


Summer of Salazar

by ubiquitouslyvertose



Series: Serpentine Advice [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Gen, Grey Harry Potter, Independent Harry Potter, Mature Harry Potter, Mentor Salazar Slytherin, No Bashing, No Slash, Professor Harry Potter, Wizarding Culture (Harry Potter), Wizarding Politics (Harry Potter), Wizengamot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:46:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 134,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27476758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ubiquitouslyvertose/pseuds/ubiquitouslyvertose
Summary: Following the events of Third Year, Harry Potter explores the Chamber of Secrets and finds a portrait of Salazar Slytherin. Following Slytherin's advice, Harry will attempt to break out of the games set upon him and finally be free. But how? And is freedom even possible for the Boy-Who-Lived?Encompasses the end of Third Year and the summer of Fourth Year as Harry begins his bid for independence in a hostile world.
Relationships: Daphne Greengrass & Harry Potter, Harry Potter & Salazar Slytherin, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter
Series: Serpentine Advice [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2007727
Comments: 35
Kudos: 192





	1. Moving the Goalposts

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: This story will not figure an absurdly powerful Harry Potter, but it will be a Harry Potter stronger than canon. It is important to remember that plot armor aside, Harry is still a teenager fighting in an adults' war against much stronger opponents magically and politically. No bashing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Following the events of Third Year, Harry Potter explores the Chamber of Secrets and finds a portrait of Salazar Slytherin. Following Slytherin's advice, Harry will attempt to break out of the games set upon him and finally be free. But how? And is freedom even possible for the Boy-Who-Lived?
> 
> Warning: This story will not figure an absurdly powerful Harry Potter, but it will be a Harry Potter stronger than canon. It is important to remember that plot armor aside, Harry is still a teenager fighting in an adults' war against much stronger opponents magically and politically. No bashing.

**Chapter One - Moving the Goalposts**

* * *

"Hello, Salazar."

"Hello, Child. It has been a while since you've come here. I would be offended if were so sentimental."

"Please", Harry rolled his eyes in faux-exasperation, "you only really care about the books I bring you. It's not my fault you read so fast."

"I liked you better when you first arrived. The wide-eyed wonder at seeing one of the Founders was more amusing than this poor attempt at wit."

"What can I say, you've taught me everything I know."

"Again, very amusing", Slytherin drawled before his grey eyes focused on Harry and his posture straightened, "but that's not what you here for. Set the books on the table."

The hidden office of Salazar Slytherin in the Chamber of Secrets was decidedly more Spartan than Harry would have suspected. Instead of the grandiose statues and imponent features that would have been suggested by the enormous statue that guarded the basilisk for a thousand or so years, the only ostentatious piece of furniture in the room was a heavy granite table centered amidst rows of bookshelves, behind which Slytherin's portrait now contemplated the five books Harry had brought. The very first words Salazar had spoken when Harry had wondered about the Chamber and stumbled about the room were: _'Grandiosity is to be shown only to other people. This is a private room, therefore, to be grandiose would have been excessively pompous, even for me',_ followed quite swiftly by _'and who would you be, and how did you kill my basilisk?'_.

Salazar had taken a shine to Harry, who despite his reservations about sharing his past with a magical portrait, quickly found Salazar to be much more receptive of his insights and questions than almost all the adults in Hogwarts proper. As Slytherin often chided him whenever Harry started to clamp up, _'I am first and foremost a teacher and mentor with more than a thousand years of experience'._ The passion for instruction never left him, even in the bizarre post-mortem life cycle of being a portrait hidden behind a basilisk and whose only company were the thousands of books in his office.

"Why don't we go for _Sense and Sensibility_? _Support the fifth book to the right of me and store all the others_ ".

Upon his command, five identical Vipers, all grey adorned with dark brown sports, intertwined themselves to form a bookshelf of sorts and opened the book on the first page, one of them patiently staring at Salazar with beady black eyes and awaiting instructions.

Despite himself, Harry chuckled at the choice.

"What are you laughing about?", inquired the portrait, with one long eyebrow raised in quiet defiance.

"I'm just imagining the reactions I would get if I told a Slytherin student that you enjoy Jane Austen novels."

"Well, you try to read stuffy potions manuals by Hector Dagworth-Granger for more than a hundred years and then try to tell me that Muggle literature is inferior. It gets rather dull here. Say what you will about wizards, they simply don't have a flair for fiction."

"Considering how many books on economics you've made me buy for you, you also don't think that wizards have a flair for non-fiction", grumbled Harry, still disgusted with the price of the university textbooks he procured in the past month of visits to the Chamber. His comment wasn't met by the expected snide sarcasm, and Salazar's gaze intensified in a way that made Harry completely forget he was talking to a portrait.

"I have found that there are two things that ought to be dominated to ascertain oneself in any situation", Slytherin quietly said, in the calm but rumbling voice that always signaled the start of a long monologue, "A cursory understanding of Psychology can be much more effective than Legilimency to understand the individual, and mastery of Economics can be much more effective than simple power to dominate a society.

"We have often talked about the current situation of blood bigotry in Magical Britain. Child, have you ever thought _why_ Purebloods are so viciously distraught by Muggle-borns specifically?"

"It does seem like a fairly simple case of fearing the unknown to me."

Salazar looked at Harry for a few moments, before looking skyward and tapping his chin with a long finger.

" _Bring the book labeled as 9178."_

A Viper uncoiled itself from the makeshift bookcase, putting _Sense and Sensibility_ on the table before sliding towards one of the newer books on a shelf behind Harry and returning to the temporary bookcase, opening it to a specific page upon further command.

"In this book, a Muggle by the name of Simon Kuznets has theorized why different societies incorporate innovative technologies and techniques into their fabric. His theory is that powerful groups established do not allow for innovations to flourish because they threaten the established economic system that rends itself for the benefit of said powerful groups. A somewhat obvious evolution of this basic tenet can be made that said groups also hamper innovation because they fear to lose the political power that allows for this economic imbalance to persist. When applied to the current scenario in Magical Britain, one can surmise that the reason for this hatred of Muggle-borns is specifically economical.

"One thing you must not forget is that Magical Britain as you understand it is a reaction to a specific time in human history. The Statute of Secrecy only went into effect in 1692, which means that the institutions guiding Magical Britain are a response to the tensions existent in Muggle society in the late 17th century. Evidently, Wizarding Britain exists before that in some capacity, Hogwarts being a clear example, but in effect, this dual and almost complete separation between Mundane and Wizarding Britain occurs then. However, there was one revolutionary advent in Muggle England after that separation that has completely subverted how it functions and is indeed the single most impactful event in history since the invention of writing: The Industrial Revolution. With it, Muggle England and the world at large has entered into a world of dynamism and great social mobility, because the profitability of new techniques and technologies was way too high to be ignored by the established elites. While it did create an enormous amount of social tension, it also created a much more progressive society than that of Magical Britain, which has been kept largely in stasis.

"Fundamentally, it is not mindless fear that ignites the passions of Purebloods, but the fear that Muggle-borns will irrevocably damage the economic and political privileges they currently enjoy. Do not think that simple bigotry does not exist, it very clearly does, but its origin is economic, not in some misguided notion of superiority. Considering the fact that Muggle-borns and Half-bloods often figure amongst the most magically powerful in the world, any inherent notion of superiority would have been quickly dismissed by any intelligent wizard. And despite the stubborn conservatism of wizards, the majority of them are not stupid."

"That is difficult to get my head around, honestly. I don't think the children in Slytherin have this level of insight into their behavior", Harry said, still dazed from the length and complexity of the impromptu lesson and dealing with a newfound respect for Economics, "And I don't see many Death Eaters having this complexity in mind either."

"Ah, you must contemplate two points, Child. First, do not mistake Pureblood bigotry for adherence to Riddle's group. They constitute the outer majority of the spectrum of those that look down upon all things Muggle. And secondly, of course, the current flock of my House's students is not guided even subconsciously by what I have mentioned about Mr. Kuznets, but therein lies the beauty of Psychology," with an indulgent and self-satisfied smile, Slytherin continued, "They are guided by a desire to copy and emulate their parents. Do not forget that many of your classmates are the future ruling class of Magical Britain, and their cynicism is not yet fully formed, and will not be formed until they inherit any meaningful position in your society. We normally do talk about politics and economics and such in abundance, but you must not forget that most if not all of your classmates are still tremendously naive on the bigger scale of things. Do not expect great cunning from a child, particularly from those whose entire lives were pampered."

At this point, it was difficult not to think about the Malfoy family. While Draco was an indomitable idiot, and whose behavior resembled Slytherin's values less and less as Harry continued to visit the Chamber, it was not difficult to see him into the group of people that purely wished to impress his parents, what with him conjuring his father into existence every other sentence. It was Lucius that baffled Harry. While intelligent and cunning even from the limited understanding he acquired about the political sphere of Wizarding Britain, it was hard to understand his motivations. They could be economic and political, but his silky and cool exterior occasionally only appears to be a veneer upon which to disguise burning cruelty.

Not able to comment on what he was listening about Psychology and Economics, Harry filed away this new information and decided to change the subject.

"If you allow me the question, why _do_ we talk so much about economics and politics? Interesting as it is, I am not really in a position to use much of what you tell me."

Slytherin frowned disapprovingly for a second before his expression softened, but a sneer seemed to appear just below the surface even as he calmly replied.

"I do not know why you think you have not a position to use what I tell you. You are not just a student in Hogwarts, Child."

"What am I, then?"

"The Boy-Who-Lived."

"Oh please, not this from you too. I'm not special, you know. I'm just Harry."

"Child, you are standing on the Chamber of Secrets, talking to one of the Founders of the premier magical educational institution in Europe, learning about the world around you. Simply by being a Parselmouth, you are already exceptional, not to mention your other adventures."

"I simply did what I had to do to survive. I am not anything spe..."

"Harry."

The surprise of having Salazar addressing him by his given name and in a tone of such unguarded fondness and affection startled Harry so much that he swallowed his complaints and gaped at the portrait.

"Harry, do you understand that the reason I do not teach you magic is that you are already sufficiently powerful for your age? Casting a corporeal Patronus Charm as you have done in the past months at the age of 13 is simply astounding. It shows a level of connection to your magic that betrays your own strength. The reason you have felt so ill-prepared is that the challenges you have faced so far are beyond what would have been reasonably considered challenging even for a much more experienced wizard."

"But what if these challenges don't stop? What if they get harder?" Harry asked in a small voice looking away from the portrait and towards the five books laid on the table.

"Oh, I am certain that they will. Do not misunderstand me, Child, you will have to be much stronger. But your magical prowess is not where your largest weakness is at the moment, both from what you have told me and from what I have observed. That is why you must understand the lectures I give into Economics, Politics, and Psychology."

"I still don't understand how I can use what I'm learning."

"At the moment, your biggest advantages are completely latent. You do not leverage the fact you are from a prominent family nor that you are yourself a prominent figure."

"I don't deserve to be a prominent figure from what I've done as a baby", Harry retorted hotly.

"You certainly don't deserve it", Salazar snapped, "but it is what it is. It would be foolish if you did not use it to its potential. Do not dwell on the world you desire, accept the reality that is."

"I do not want to manipulate people based on an undeserved reputation _",_ retorted Harry, getting up from his chair and slapping both hands on the table in front of him.

" _SIT DOWN, CHILD "_, hissed Salazar, summoning two snakes from the chair arms and pinning Harry down before taking a deep breath and mumbling about foolish Godric nobility, "if you choose not to use your fame, undeserved or otherwise, other people will do for you, and not in your benefit. If you used your political image in your favor, your godfather would have already been freed."

At the mention of Sirius, Harry tensed against the chair and the snakes still pinning him down, his orders for the snakes to free him ignored.

"The Boy-Who-Lived is not an individual. It is an _institution_. One you can not ignore. I understand the pain of loss much more deeply than you, Child, and I know that it seems distasteful to use your parents' sacrifice in this way, but you can not take it back. You can not choose to not survive the Killing Curse. You can not reverse your parents' sacrifice. I am not Godric. I am a pragmatist. For me, simply disallowing my opponents to use any leverage against me is sufficient reason to act. But if you need a damn Gryffindor reason to stop laying on your ass and hindering your potential, then choose to _honor_ your parents' nobility and sacrifice."

At this, Harry finally relaxed against his constraints and looked to the ground in resignation.

"I can never be normal, can I, Salazar?"

"Would you wish to be, other than to not be an orphan?" inquired Slytherin, softly.

"I don't know."

For a while, the Chamber was silent. Noises always echo in the long tunnels in between the private office of Salazar Slytherin and the resting place of the basilisk, and background noises filtered through the silence. Harry had long ceased to be constantly amazed by the Chamber, after more than a month of frequent visitations, but these lapses in the middle of the lectures were always appreciated. The environment of the Chamber and that particular office is very appropriate for contemplation, with the vastness of unused space inviting complex thoughts and conclusions. Harry wondered for how many years Slytherin had used the table in front of him to contemplate his own challenges.

"Before, you said that because I am a Parselmouth, I was already exceptional. How come?"

"Hmm... I did, did I not?" Salazar rumbled in an oddly sibilant voice, looking upwards and concealing his mouth with his hand as if deeply contemplating the question, "Child, do me a favor and cast the Patronus Charm if you will?"

Blinking a bit from the oddity of the request, Harry nonetheless whipped out his wand.

" _Expecto Patronum."_

Instantly, Prongs appeared from the tip of the wand, looking around for threats and prancing proudly around Harry. The difference this time was that Prongs was much more bright and solid, emanating heat as if it were alive and breathing. Harry had to look away, breaking his concentration and vanishing the stag from existence with a soft _pop_ , leaving the young wizard awed and confused.

"It... it has _never_ been so bright before... Why now?"

"Quite simple. You cast it in Parseltongue."

"What? I did not!"

"Of course you did. Do you think I was covering my mouth because I was perplexed by the question?" At this point, Salazar rolled his eyes in such a disdainful way that left Harry even more speechless. "Please, I have been a teacher for a thousand years. No basic question would leave me flummoxed so. I was covering my mouth so you did not notice that I was speaking in Parseltongue. I was forcing you to subconsciously cast as a Parselmouth, not only as a wizard."

"What is the difference, then?" Harry asked, barely avoiding rolling his own eyes. Regardless of how personable Salazar could be, annoying him was still the fastest way to be humbled quite severely in the room.

"The results speak for themselves", huffed Slytherin, putting closed fists in his hips and puffing out his chest, "you could not possibly think that the only use for a magical language that is impossible to learn is to talk with one specific animal, do you? That would be tremendously wasteful.

"Parseltongue is indeed the way by which we can communicate with serpents and their related subspecies. But it also a magical language. It is a conduit for magic in the same way that a wand is a focus for the magical power of one wizard. By casting in Parseltongue, or even by silently casting whilst thinking in Parseltongue, one can more easily impart their intent into a spell, either magnifying its potency, its speed, or both. There are very few spells for which Parseltongue will not allow a spell to flow, none of which are pertinent to you, unless you suddenly decide to use Killing Curses left, right, and center."

"Why can't the _Avada Kedavra_ work in Parseltongue?"

"Don't interrupt me, you're getting ahead of yourself, Child." Dismissing the murmured apology with an airy wave of his hand, Salazar continued, "The reason why you learn magic with certain wand movements and verbal incantations even though one may use the same spells without either wands or words is that those two factors greatly enhance the flow of a wizard's magic. Imagine that you are trying to control the flow of a great rolling river. This river represents a caster's magic. By using Arithmancy and a variety of techniques not pertinent to the discussion, one can devise the most precise manner in which to maneuver a magical focus like a wand or staff to facilitate your control over the river, as well as impart the incantation that also does so. These steps are unnecessary, and theoretically, all spells could be used silently, with no hand or wand movements, but it requires intent and magical prowess in levels so extraordinary as to be practically impossible. Accidental magic does not happen with adults because an adult's river of magic is sufficiently wide as to be almost insurmountable without facilitation. A child is prone to these episodes because their river is yet to be fully developed and can be more easily controlled even without formal education. Parseltongue, as a magical language, can be a much more effective conduit of magic than the odd Magical Latin used in Magical Britain. My understanding of Physics is quite limited, I am afraid, but I do understand that different material conduct electrical currents differently, and silver is more conductive than iron. Think of Parseltongue as silver and the odd Wizarding Latin used in spells in Britain as iron."

"You know, for a supposedly bigoted wizard that has been dead for a thousand years, you are surprisingly well informed on all things Muggle."

"There are more than 6 billion humans on this planet, Child, and perhaps a bit over a million are wizards. As interesting as a wizard may be, they are not as interesting as the collective wisdom of 6 thousand Muggles."

"You are also disturbingly up to date in your observations for a dead man."

"You forget we are in Hogwarts, and I am Salazar Slytherin."

"I was wondering how long you would take to say that. I was almost proud of you for holding it back so long. You taught me useful things _before_ saying that phrase for once."

"Really, Child", Salazar drawled.

"How come anyone that is even remotely connected to you or your House is so good at this drawl? Do you have a hidden lesson on the first day of First Year, or what?"

"It is a most conductive conduit for the wit of Slytherin", said Salazar, dryly despite the clear amusement in his grey eyes.

"Ah, so it is barely dignified sass."

"A more precise definition for the wit of Slytherin is yet to be found. Words and politics are just clever ways of telling people you dislike to go fuck themselves without them noticing."

"I am very good at the telling them to go fuck themselves, but very bad at the not noticing bit."

"Ah, but that is the most entertaining part. The apex of political cunning is to make your opponent talk themselves into going to hell without them knowing, but I do not expect you to reach that level in Hogwarts."

"What, ' _make your opponent talk themselves into going to fuck themselves'_ not dignified enough for you?"

"I thought too cumbersome to say", Salazar smirked in delight.

"Fair enough," Harry hummed before again falling into a comfortable silence, "you did not tell me why the Killing Curse can't be cast in Parseltongue", he inquired suddenly.

"I did not. The reason is quite simple. As a magical language, Parseltongue is an amplifier of magical intent. However, when the magical intent goes against the natural flow of the river, Parseltongue also enhances this negative effect. The three Unforgivable Curses are also contrary to the natural flow of a person's magic, and thus are not suitably used in Parseltongue."

"Ah, that makes sense. Well, good then. I don't want to think of a world where Voldem-", at this point Salazar hissed quite loudly - he _really_ hates that moniker - "... ergh, right, where Riddle can hiss _Avada Kedavras_ out of thin air."

Another comfortable silence filled the room at this point. Instead of striking up a conversation, Salazar ordered one of the conjured Vipers still holding on as a makeshift bookcase to bring back _Sense and Sensibility_. Taking the queue, Harry picked up his parchment and quill and absentmindedly worked on his Transfiguration essays.

Talking to Salazar regularly had significantly enhanced his understanding of magic, even if the true magical genius that was hidden beneath the silver tongue only showed up in small amounts at the moment. There was a point that Harry's greatest weakness was not in magical power or even his less developed understanding of magical theory, but his social skills and either a formal or informal setting. To be fair, a cupboard is hardly an appropriate venue to learn how to behave in the weird convoluted world of Wizarding Britain. Harry was essentially Muggle-born, even though the Boy-Who-Lived was a crucial part of Pureblood culture and Wizarding culture at large.

How could Harry use this... _thing_? He was not fully convinced that this was an advantage. His experience with wizards showed them to be quite fickle. The Heir of Slytherin debacle was not yet off of his mind, and probably would never be. While First Year had conflicts, it stilled in Harry a sense of belonging that his previous life had lacked severely. Hogwarts became home. Second Year showed that Wizarding Britain was as cruel as life in Privet Drive could be. Hogwarts became a behemoth masonry cupboard beneath the stairs for a prolonged period, in large part due to this ability to speak a language that gave him an enormous magical advantage over everybody except Riddle.

But again, how to use it? Would using it be worth the social isolation? As much as Harry would love to say that the opinions of others should not matter, thinking about a repetition of Second Year made his stomach clench. Also, as far as he could absorb from Slytherin's lectures, it would be unwise to be isolated. But it would _also_ be unwise to ignore Parseltongue.

At this point, the Transfiguration essay was forgotten, and Harry was gnawing on the tip of the quill in consternation. Presumably, the student body of Hogwarts already knows about him being a Parselmouth, even though Harry did not even touch the _idea_ of talking to a snake in the wide public since the basilisk died. But then again, whatever exploits he made using Parseltongue would show up in the Daily Prophet the next day, and Merlin knows how everyone would think him a Dark Wizard in the making, even if he used Parseltongue to save the lives of a dozen babies from a fire.

 _'Honestly, Salazar says most wizards are not idiots, but their opinion on_ anything _can be swayed by one fake front-page article. It is unbelievably stupid how most of the country blindly follow whatever the Prophet says.'_

"Hang on", Harry thought out loud, calling attention to Salazar, who was still quietly reading Jane Austen and occasionally ordering one of the Vipers to turn the page, "in one of our earlier conversations about economics, you talked to me about how economic competition is almost always natural. Now, you've also told me that Magical Britain was unusually large and powerful in comparison to other magical countries. I know that compared to even Muggle London the wizarding population of the country is not enormous, but how come there are only _one_ major school and _one_ major newspaper?"

At this question, Salazar smirked in delight and hissed softly for a snake to give Harry Potter a certain book.

" _Institutions_ , by Douglass North? What am I supposed to do with this?"

"Sit on it to make it warm? It's a damn book, what do you think?"

"Right, I get that", Harry snapped, still frowning at the book, "but you've never given me any non-magical books to read, and this looks very non-magical."

"Oh, it is. It is something of a new classic in Economics. Quite hard to read for the uninitiated."

"Then _how_ I am supposed to understand it?"

Slytherin leveled Harry quite a venomous gaze and shifted into Parseltongue.

" _You have asked me an interesting question, do not revert into your usual stupidity. If I give you the answer on a plate you will learn nothing, you insolent child. Now read the damn book and think critically for once."_

After several minutes of significantly more uncomfortable silence, during Harry had too great a headache to try to read the book, but kept trying to read the first sentences without success, he finally put the book down and looked back at the portrait.

"You also did say another think about cunning," Salazar hissed in annoyance at the interruption, but Harry plowed on, "you said that if I had used my position as the Boy-Who-Lived, I could have gotten my godfather released by now. Could you tell me how?"

The question did soften Slytherin's annoyance. For all his faults and short temper, he greatly enjoyed curious children, being a teacher at heart. More significantly, hearing Harry's story, it was not difficult to imagine what life at Dursley's was like by how he tiptoed around the subject, and how the liberation of Sirius Black would have freed him from that burden.

"I am sorry, Child, but my advice on this matter is now useful to you at this point." Salazar stopped talking and began running his finger through his beard while looking at a point above Harry's shoulder. Satisfied with whichever reflection he achieved, he turned his gaze back into Harry's, "Furthermore, I think that to improve yourself, this is something you should try to achieve on your own. You have already changed for the better since the first time you came here, but having a clear ambition is something that can only improve you further."

For the briefest of moments, Harry did try to be outraged by the lack of support from this mentor, but he knew it would be facetious to be disappointed. He could not expect to carry Salazar to whisper sweet nothings into his ears in front of the Minister to try to persuade Fudge to actually do something. He nodded glumly and stared at the parchment in front of him. Harry's thousand-yard stare did alarm Slytherin, that decided to distract him.

"You did tell me about the Mirror of Erised in your First Year, correct, Harry?"

Again the usage of his first name threw Harry off balance, but he quickly realized what Salazar was doing and mentally thanking him for the effort before nodding.

"If you were to see it again, but with the condition that what you see must be possible, what do you think you would see?"

The question did surprise Harry for a minute. He knew that his mom and dad would never be with him. That was impossible. Other than that, what _did_ he want?

"I guess at the moment the thing I want the most is to see Sirius freed."

"But is his freedom the ultimate goal of your desire?"

"What do you mean?"

"Is it not true that the reason you want Sirius freed is to be free from the Dursley's yourself?"

"I... suppose", Harry said slowly, thinking about what was said, "It is not for only that reason, but it is the strongest motive, yes."

"And what, pray tell, is your reason behind wanting to be free from the Dursley household?"

"What do you mean, what is the reason?!" Harry asked, indignant, "You know damn well why I want to go away from there. The place is my own hell!"

"I know that, Harry" - _'again with the damn first name, what is going on today?' -_ "That is not the point. The thing I want you to think about is that beyond your obvious attachment to the idea of family, there is one thing that you desire above all others, but you are yet to realize. You desire this thing so much that your favorite activity is thusly simply because it makes you feel this thing. Do you know what it is?"

After a couple of moments of frowning, Harry's expression cleared before he spoke barely above a whisper, "Freedom."

"Indeed," Salazar nodded sharply, "That is the heart of your desires. However, Harry Potter, you must remember this. Even a leader is not truly free, for he is shackled by the cost of maintaining his leadership position. But leading is the freer you will ever be in the world. You are a natural leader. That does not mean you are a good one. Nor does it mean that leading does not come without its sacrifices. There is no such thing as a free lunch."

"How do I become free, Salazar?" Harry asked quietly, again his voice barely above a whisper and his gaze emptily fixated on the parchment.

"I do not know. Freedom is a deeply personal journey. Being the Boy-Who-Lived, you do have at least a more clear set of obstacles, but they are also much harder to traverse. Both Albus Dumbledore and Tom Riddle believe themselves to be chess masters of a Great Game, one beyond the needs and expectations of the individual pieces, and both see you as a vital piece of this game. What they don't realize is that this sanctimonious war that they both believe themselves to be leading is not a game of chess. No game in Wizarding Culture accurately represents strategy warfare, and perhaps the only Muggle game I know that does a reasonable job is a Chinese game called Go.

"Child, I do understand that soon summer will arrive, and I will not see you until your Fourth Year, beginning in September. For the summer, I do wish you would do the following things. I want you to read the book by Douglass North I gave you earlier. I also want you to read a second book which I will soon order a Viper to retrieve called The Art of War, an ancient Chinese treatise on warfare and strategy that would be useful in your situation. And thirdly, do apply yourself to wandless Parseltongue, but only try to control and conjure snakes, and do not attempt spell-casting. This way you can avoid any Underage Restrictions on the Use of Magic. If you provide me with a reasonable strategy to tackling your issues in the short term by September, I will give you more pointed tutoring to guide you in these coming conflicts, and more poignant reading, particularly on strategy."

"Thank you, Salazar," Harry said, honestly touched by the portrait's dedication, "but how can you be sure there will be a coming conflict? Could we not solve it before it starts?"

"Child," Salazar replied, smiling sadly, "there is always a coming conflict."


	2. The Unbearable Lightness of Being (a Witch)

**C** **hapter Two - The Unbearable Lightness of Being (a Witch)**

* * *

Harry was warmth.

The warmth of a tight hug in the Great Hall. The warmth of shy nods of appreciation and lopsided smiles. The warmth of calm strength on top of a great flying beast and of misplaced confidence in her intelligence. The warmth of friendship and bravery and... love.

A wizarding version of a night spent drinking hot cocoa on a comfy sofa with a fuzzy blanket.

Hermione would have liked to be cold, strong, and self-assured, to blend in with his warmth, but she was not. She was books and cleverness and most of all, she was _intensity_. The fury of a scorned witch blazed within her, not due to personal misgivings or rejected feelings, but because of injustice. The injustice of a world where being a woman was a disadvantage, the injustice of a world where being a Muggle-born was to be treated as a second-class citizen. Hermione was always afraid that her blazing hot lava and Harry's cozy warmth would never really coalesce, and she would lose her best friend, but it never happened. When things went poorly, his warmth turned cold, hard, unbreakable willpower, and her furious intensity became blazing, hot, burning determination. It was never more comfortable for her than atop Buckbeak.

But Harry was no longer just warmth, was he? Ever since that day, he disappeared for hours and would return after curfew. When confronted with it, it would not be an abashed Harry Potter that would respond to her indignant fury - ' _how DARE he has me worry like that?' -_ but a calm, _cold_ , calculating one. She ought to have been pleased. Warm and cold, _this should be working!_ Now they would always complement one another, and that wonderful feeling she had atop Buckbeak would always be with them, and she would never be alone again.

It was not a happy Hermione that was quietly waiting at the Gryffindor Common Room that night. It was not even an angry, furious one, concerned with her best friend. She was terrified out of her mind. Terrified because Harry was avoiding her. Because he changed. Something changed, and she needed to figure out what. She could not be alone, never again, she simply couldn't. Not without hot cocoa and fuzzy blankets and comfy sofas.

She tried to stop herself from shaking, but she couldn't. She kept staring at her hand, willing it to _stop shivering_ , but it would not obey her. She focused so hard that her vision because blurry and she was not crying, she was _focusing_. That was a sniffle, she was just clearing her nose. She was _intensity,_ and _intensity_ did not have scared bouts of crying in the middle of the night. She needed to be intense because that was _Harry_ needed: books, cleverness, and furious, burning intensity.

A whirlwind of confusing and panicking thoughts was suddenly interrupted by a pair of arms holding her softly, and the voice she wanted to hear came out above her.

"Hermione? What's wrong? Why are you crying?" This was not the cold Harry of the nights she spent waiting for him at the Common Room, but the warm softness she missed so much, and she would not let him leave. She threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly, with all she had. He would not leave her alone, ever again. It would be her and her hot cocoa, fuzzy blankets, and comfy sofas.

"Did Ron do something? Talk to me, Hermione."

She managed a short strangled laugh in the middle of her soft sobs and sniffles but shook her head no. Ron had not talked much to her recently, not without Harry so distant. She looked down in shame, ' _intensity did not cry, pull yourself together, Granger!'_ , but Harry would not let her go. She felt a hand quickly cup her cheek and force her gaze upwards, and one glance at the warmth behind the concerned emerald green eyes and the same wonderful feeling she had with him riding Buckbeak filled her again.

"Hermione, what happened?" Harry asked softly again, but Hermione did not want to talk or move or breathe, because if she did that feeling would disappear again and she wanted to feel it forever. So she just gazed at him wide-eyed and still softly crying.

Harry's gaze narrowed for a fraction of a second before softening even more.

"Hermione, are you sad because I am not spending as much time with you?" He asked, with the softest voice she had ever listened out of him.

She could not answer that. She was _intensity_ , and _intensity_ was not a damsel in distress in need of rescuing, Hermione Granger did the rescuing, thank you very much, and you're welcome, Sirius Black.

"It's nothing, Harry. Have you finished your Transfiguration essay? I just finished mine, I can revise yours if you give me it." She offered, looking everywhere but at him, trembling hands trying to open her bag to pick up her parchment and quill. Harry caught her wrist in his grasp and stared at her.

"That was a really bad attempt to change the subject, Hermione," Harry said, with a narrowed gaze and biting his lower lip, deep in thought. Again she found herself gaping blindly, subdued by his eyes before he frowned and continued, "unless you weren't changing the subject."

Hermione felt her throat closing and she felt her breaths coming in shallower. She couldn't listen to Harry distancing himself again, it would hurt too much. She closed her eyes tightly and willed herself to be anywhere but there.

"Hermione, I am not your friend because of your intelligence." That made her open her eyes in confusion. Books and cleverness, that was her, what could she offer him if not that? He _needed_ to need her, or he would abandon her and she would be alone, and that could not happen, ever again. "I am your friend because you are a wonderful person. You are kind, dedicated, and dependable. Just because I decided to apply myself more and try harder here at Hogwarts does not mean that will stop needing you around me. I will always need you. Ron might make me laugh more, but you are my best friend."

Again that made her wrap her arms around him and squeeze him for all he was worth - and he was worth everything in Hermione's book. She let him go and could not stop the shy pleased smile forming on her face as Harry's warmth wrap around her as he beamed at her.

"Now, can I help you dedicate yourself more?" She asked shyly, still pleased that Harry was not willing to let her go, but could not avoid the pit of dread filling her stomach when he softly shook his head.

"It is not that I don't want you to help, Hermione, but ever since the thing with Sirius, it's something I want to do alone. I can't shake the feeling that if I was smarter about the whole thing, he would have been freed by now."

Harry's face took that distant quality that still made Hermione's heart clench with apprehension but knowing he wasn't about to bolt made her fight down the pang of fear and sadness.

"It's not your fault, Harry."

"It's not the point, Hermione. I could have forced Fudge to listen, I could have forced Snape to cooperate, but I was too direct, too naive. I can't have that happen again," Harry's emerald eyes darkened and his expression turned deadly serious, and he turned to again gaze directly into her eyes, making her swallow a bit at his intensity, "if I don't change, they'll keep doing this to people. Throwing Hagrid at Azkaban without a trial, making an innocent man run away, allowing Malfoy to run the government. What if they turn on you next? Who's going to stop them?"

"Surely, we can ask Dumbledore for help, Harry, he could keep us safe." Again, Harry shook his head softly before looking at her.

"Hermione, Dumbledore has an enormous amount of power. Think about it, he has been Headmaster for what, fifty years? That's entire generations of the most powerful witches and wizards of the country that were put directly put into his tutelage, not to mention the power he has as Chief Warlock, and he didn't confront Fudge when he arrested Hagrid, and you know how loyal Hagrid is to Dumbledore. And about keeping us safe, Hermione, last year you were _petrified by a basilisk_ , the year before that you were almost mauled by a troll, not to mention this year when we were almost Kissed by dementors. We can only trust ourselves."

Harry suddenly jumped up in surprise and looked distant before frowning and smiling softly, "Huh, you've just helped me figure something that was confusing me a lot earlier", he cleared his head with a quick shake and smiled at her, "but anyway, just because I need to do somethings alone doesn't mean we can't spend more time together. How about we study a bit together at the library tomorrow?"

Hermione was still confused about Harry's sudden skepticism of Dumbledore and was fighting the pang of sadness she felt at being excluded from whatever exercise Harry was indulging himself into to improve himself, but those feelings were quickly drowned by the warmth filling her at seeing Harry's lopsided smile. She beamed at him and nodded happily, making him chuckle at her eagerness, but Hermione didn't care. She had her hot cocoa, fuzzy blankets, and comfy sofas back.

"It's late. I'll see you tomorrow. Good night, Hermione."

"Good night, Harry."

* * *

The following days were more or less uneventful. Hermione seemed delighted at Harry's newfound passion for learning, even if it was somewhat diluted by his frequent disappearances at night, but she always waited for him at the Common Room, even falling asleep at the couch once or twice waiting for him. Unfailingly, he would always put her head on his lap and stroke her hair until she woke up, beamed at his tenderness, and then went up to sleep in her bed. He suspected that at least a couple of times she pretended to fall asleep just so he would caress her hair by the small smile that appeared briefly at the corners of her mouth before flickering out of existence, but he did not comment. He enjoyed it too, and it made for good moments for contemplation.

He had not yet read the books with any measure of dedication. When he went to bed he was usually exhausted by an afternoon of lectures and studying with Hermione, followed by an evening of conversation and tutelage by Salazar in the Chamber. The Fat Lady barely commented at his constant flaunting of the rules at this point, and just sighed whenever a disembodied head popped out of nowhere and said the password to swing up the door to the Common Room. He feared that being seen reading Muggle books by Hermione would trigger a series of unwanted questions, and he could not risk her reaction that Salazar Slytherin, presumed hater of all things Muggle, was his tutor, what with Hermione being as passionately hot-headed about the backwardness of wizards as she could be. Or worse yet, she would without question doubt him that Salazar has ordained all this Muggle literature and assume Harry was hiding something nefarious from her, and that would undo whatever progress was made the past few days since their tearful conversation in Gryffindor Tower.

"Can't you charm the books so the cover would appear as something else?" Harry had asked Salazar one evening.

"I can, but why would I do that?"

"Aren't masterplans supposed to be hidden, you know, to spring up at an opportune moment?"

"Please," Slytherin scoffed derisively, without even looking up from his book, "you don't have a _plan_ to conceal, let alone a masterplan. You barely have the inklings of an ambition."

"I thought we agreed that my ambition was freedom."

"No", Salazar sighed heavily, ordering a Viper to close the book and pinching his nose between his fingers in frustration, "we agreed that your _desire_ is freedom. Ambitions are not as open-ended as 'I want to be free'. You need an objective, tangible, and attainable goal, not the vagueries of an adolescent."

"So, what is my ambition, then?" Harry demanded.

"How am I supposed to know? Deal with it, Child. If you think you can not trust whomever it is you wish to hide your ambitions from, then maybe you should not count on them."

" _I will not abandon Hermione_ ", Harry hissed angrily, slipping into Parseltongue. That was happening more often lately.

Slytherin looked at him surprised before guffawing at Harry's indignant and flushed face.

"Sure, then do not abandon her," he shrugged lightly and turned his attention back to the book in front of him, "find a way to coopt her into helping you."

"I don't know how she'd feel about you, honestly", Harry admitted weakly.

"Ah, so she's one of _those_ Gryffindors?" Slytherin scoffed, turning his attention back to his books.

"She doesn't think all Slytherins are evil, but she doesn't think the world of you, exactly."

"Let me guess, she worships the ground Albus walks on." Salazar's drawl made Harry squirm a bit, even if he wasn't even glancing up at the portrait. He could _feel_ the derision, but could not bring himself to defend his friend. In truth, the topic of Albus Dumbledore has highly contentious between both Hermione and Harry and Harry and Salazar. While Salazar openly mocked the man and ridiculed both his tenure as Chief Warlock and particularly his performance as Headmaster, calling him _'a headless man wearing too many hats'_ , Hermione still found herself horrified at Harry's modest distrust of what he suspected was a man with good intentions and bad execution. A discussion between Hermione and Salazar about Dumbledore, which was bound to happen about ten minutes after their first introduction if for no other reason than Slytherin's predilection to make his charge feel intensely uncomfortable, would be... _bad._ Best to change the subject.

"Well, to be fair, your first interaction with her was through your basilisk."

Salazar frowned, and Harry started to feel proud of himself for changing the direction of the conversation. Slytherin loved prowling on about his basilisk.

"That was a surprisingly good segue, Child."

_'Well, damn'._

"I am almost proud."

_'Well, fuck you too'._

"Normally you are quite infatuated with Sally."

" _My familiar is_ _ **not**_ _named Sally!_ ", Salazar hissed angrily at Harry, who snickered. As good at deflection as Slytherin could be, his temper was quite easy to exploit when it came to the basilisk.

"What? You're the one who kept nagging me about how the snake is a _she._ Can't call her Sal if she's a lady snake, can I? _"_

"Be careful, Child. You are not too old for me to bend you over my knee." Salazar narrowed his gaze, staring intently at Harry, daring him to continue mocking him.

"You are a portrait. You have no knees."

After a beat of silence, Salazar hissed viciously. " _Hold Harry Potter still and bend him."_

"Woah, hang on!", Harry yelled as multiple snakes coiled around him and one a particularly large one coiled itself around one of the legs of the granite table and then wrapped around his neck and forced Harry to bend down, "Calm down, calm down! I'm sorry."

With a loud harumph, Slytherin vanished the snakes and kept an angry narrow gaze at Harry.

"I'm already your damn owl-post, you don't need to have to spank me too, you know," Harry grumbled annoyed, throwing the books he brought Salazar out of his bag and at the table.

"Well, if the world were civilized enough as to have snake delivery I would not need an owl, but it is not, so I do."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. It's not like you're paying for the damn books."

"My instruction is not free. And need I remind you are buying the books using a vault filled with the gold from the sale of my basilisk's parts, at my recommendation?"

"It's not my fault if Sally is in high demand", Harry said, already running out of the office to escape Salazar's wrath.

" _CHILD, COME BACK HERE"._

Harry laughed his way out of the Chamber, thinking about how he would pay dearly for that one.

* * *

"Classes are so boring now, I swear", Harry complained, laying his head down on the table, "how do you stand to be so far ahead on theory and not be bored half to death?"

"There's always more theory to read, you know," said Hermione, without glancing up from the Advanced Charms textbook she was reading, "and it's not like you aren't ahead of everyone in _practical_ magic."

"If it were up to you, you would already be reading on post-NEWTS magic, I swear."

"Well, technically speaking, a Patronus charm isn't taught at Hogwarts, not currently anyway. So you know more post-NEWTS theory in Charms than I do."

"By the grand margin of _one_ spell."

"One is bigger than zero," Hermione shrugged, having given up on resenting Harry for knowing how to conjure a Patronus. After interacting with him for long enough, normalizing the exceptional just became part of her routine.

He snorted but said nothing, resting his chain in the spine of a random book, trying to balance it vertically.

"If you are so bored, why don't you try Arithmancy? It's my favorite subject, it's very interesting."

A couple of months ago, Hermione would have expected barely hidden disdain from Harry, but now she saw his pensive expression in the corner of her eye and could barely contain her glee. Ron had given up on accompanying both of them to their excursions to the library because even he couldn't ignore Hermione's heated gaze whenever he mumbled about mental people and their lack of appreciation for the finer things in life like chess and Quidditch without Harry's tacit support. Their redhead friend still hanged out with them whenever they were in the Common Room and sat next to them in classes, but that was it. Seamus and Dean were with him most of the time in the Common Room now, and Neville shifted between both groups.

"I was thinking about reading on Arithmancy so I could try to experiment with new spells."

This was unexpected. Hermione frowned, "how do you know this about Arithmancy? You haven't read up on the theory, I would know."

Harry gave her a sheepish grin and shrugged, picked up the introductory textbook on the subject, and opened up the first page.

Hermione narrowed her gaze on Harry. He only held his secrecy when she tried to approach the subject of what he did in the evenings. ' _So this is related. But he couldn't have been learning just Arithmancy alone, he wouldn't hide that. What is he doing then?'_ She tried to learn the Disillusionment Charm to follow him, but not only did she fail, but she was also quickly reminded Harry had an invisibility cloak. But Hermione Granger was nothing if not persistent. She would just have to change her tactics.

 _'What else has been happening with Harry recently that is weird?'_ Hermione pondered, before seeing Hedwig flying by one of the windows with a package in her talons. _'Hedwig has been carrying a lot of these packages lately. And I think I saw some Muggle literature in one of those packages he opened on the Great Hall.'_

Hermione's eyes flew open before she relaxed her postured a bit _too_ conspicuously, making Harry look at her.

"You know, the Hogwarts library really should have more Muggle books," Hermione said, slamming down her Charms textbook she was reading with a heavy thud, "magic is quite interesting, but I do miss just reading a good romance."

 _'Well. Isn't that serendipitous?',_ Harry thought, concealing a grin.

"Oh, recently I found out about a way to owl-deliver books from a Muggle library. There's a squib in Aberdeen that owls Muggle books for wizards here at Hogwarts."

"How did you find about that?"

"I asked a portrait." Well, that is technically true, after all.

"Huh. How fast can he deliver? I know there's only a couple of weeks until the end of term, but I would love reading something like Jane Austen."

_'Oh Merlin, this is too good to be true. It has to be a sign'._

"It depends on the book but I'll imagine someone as popular as Jane Austen would be quite quick. Which book would you like?"

"I didn't know you liked her! Oh, reading her books now would so fun. You should pick up a book from her too! We can read together by the Black Lake, now that it's warmer. I'll let you pick whichever book you prefer."

"Great! I'll owl him right now and we should have the books by tomorrow." Harry got up from his seat in the Library and went pacing to the Chamber, not believing his luck.

"Well then, maybe now he'll explain why Hedwig came up with _Sense and Sensibility_ then", Hermione muttered under her breath, opening her Charms book again and happily humming a tune.


	3. Unveiling a Riddle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On the subject of romance: This story will eventually figure a romantic pairing, and I plan on making romance a secondary but important feature between the characters, but it will not be a straight-up, normal Harmony story. There will certainly be romantic tension between the two, but whether that resolves itself into a romance or not will not be revealed. What would be the fun doing that?
> 
> On the portrayal of Tom Riddle: One thing that does bother me a lot about the Harry Potter fandom is the portrayal of the main villain as this Crucio-happy machine of malevolent idiocy. Riddle is unquestionably the bad guy of the franchise, but he is also politically savvy, magically powerfully and personally charismatic. A Crucio every five minutes to every single one of his followers would make for a very dead Dark Lord, very fast.
> 
> On the portrayal of Albus Dumbledore: Another observation is required about the 'Light Lord' of the story, so to speak. Dumbledore is manipulative, savvy, and fiercely charismatic in his own right, but he is also not evil. I do not want to write a portrait of the man as a thief and a miscreant hiding behind purple robes and cleverly worded nonsense. The way I will write both Chessmasters in this story will be as nuanced humans with enormous failings.

**Chapter Three - Unveiling a Riddle**

* * *

Harry walked through the tunnels connecting the antechamber of the Chamber of Secrets to Salazar's hidden office at a brisk pace. He had come directly from Dumbledore's office, where he was reminded once more of his obligation to stay in the safety of the Dursley's home, and that ever since the Blowing of the Large Barge incident, there would be regular visits from wizards employed by Dumbledore to assure that nothing would happen to him.

Succinctly put, he would be completely unable to _leave_.

That would be a problem. It would normally already be an issue, but Harry planned to leave the house for long periods during the summer, leaving Dumbledore none the wiser. He knew any bid for independence from Dumbledore's influence would be quashed if he had a rotating guard of keepers at the Dursley's. He needed Salazar's help.

"Salazar, can we talk?" Harry asked, barging into the office would nary a glance at anything else but the portrait, but the sight before him did make him pause. "Huh, are you playing chess against yourself?"

In front of him, a gaggle of snakes was supporting a chessboard at the portrait level, with one bright green cobra standing against Salazar, playing the black pieces.

"Of course not. I am playing against Basil."

"You've named a cobra Basil? Do you miss Sally that much?"

"You are insufferable. I will have you know that my basilisk was a wonderful creature," Slytherin sighed morosely, "but no, I have named him thusly because his wonderful green scales remind me of the herb."

"Right. The Lord of Snakes here really enjoys Italian cuisine."

"I lived in 10th century Scotland. Italian cuisine was hard to come by, for some reason. Also, if my Herbology is not remiss, basil is native to Africa and Asia, both regions far beyond my reach at my living days." Salazar hissed a command to move his rook and Basil, the Cobra complied.

"Who would have thought it? Anyhow, how can you be playing chess against a snake if you are not commanding it?"

"Ah, I imparted it with the knowledge of chess games and other human affectations."

At this, Harry just gaped at the portrait and kept moving his gaze from the portrait to the conjured snake.

"Excuse me, you did WHAT?! Did you give a conjured animal free will?!"

" _You are quite a silly human, aren't you?_ ", hissed Basil, looking at Harry for the first time.

" _Oi!_ ", responded Harry indignantly, already forgetting his urgency in the first place, " _I'll have you know that I'm not in the habit of seeing the rules of magic as I know them being broken so that a portrait can play chess!"_

" _Ah, a Speaker_ ," Basil bobbed his head agreeably, flicking his tongue at Harry, " _normally Salazar's Speakers are less impressionable than you, but you look like a hatchling, so that is understandable._ " At this, Basil turned back to the game and carefully moved one of his bishops with his mouth.

"Salazar, how come even your damn snakes are sassy?"

"Well, when I conjured Basil, I imparted him with some of my intelligence. He is not a snake form of my personality, but he would incorporate some of my attributes," Slytherin shrugged as if casually talking about what he had for dinner before frowning, "it is infuriating that a mere portion of my conscience beats me at this game so much."

" _Are you saying that you gave a snake a portion of yourself?!_ " Harry asked angrily, remembering the incident that first made him visit the Chamber the previous year, making both Basil and Slytherin stop playing and look at him with heavy eyes.

"Do not mistake for Riddle, _Child_ ," responded the portrait, emphasizing the last word in a way that made Harry wince, "I said I put a part of my intelligence into my conjuration, not a part of myself. As you so eloquently said many times, I am just a portrait. I have no self to impart to anything. However, upon the creation of our magical portraits, all four Founders imparted our paintings with much more magical energy than necessary. This allows me to make conjurations and to apply the willpower applied to me by my human self to wandlessly create snakes. I am the _only_ portrait in the planet capable of feats of magic because of the combination of being a Founder's portrait and being a Parselmouth."

After several seconds of tense silence, Salazar sighed and said in a softer note, "Do not ever forget, Harry Potter, that you are young and ignorant. You are still learning, and I have forgotten more about any one branch of magic than you currently know."

"Ergh, right. Sorry about that, Salazar."

"Pay no mind," Slytherin said, dismissing the game with a lazy hiss, to the consternation of a winning Basil, "you said you needed my guidance?"

"Yes, I do. Dumbledore will be assigning a guard on the Dursley's to ' _keep them from doing anything',_ and has forbidden me from leaving the house."

"He is restricting your movements."

"Yes, and I do not know why."

"Well, he is trying to isolate you from Sirius, in my mind. He is the only wizard with any real claim of retrieving you from the Muggle world, being your godfather, and by assigning a guard and forbidding you from leaving, he stops you from contacting him or even encountering him on accident. Presumably, he has done the same to Sirius, probably sending him far away to recover from Askaban, but it is likely that Sirius, being a scion of the Blacks, has properties here in Britain where he could both recover himself and keep you safe from harm."

"Why is Dumbledore so insistent that I don't stay in Wizarding Britain? I was in the Alley this past summer and I was fine." Harry complained as he sat heavily on the wooden chair in front of the granite table.

"On that occasion, he was probably overridden by the Ministry," Salazar said pensively, "as to why he is so insistent, well, constricting information is his _modus operandi._ "

"His what now?"

" _Modus operandi_. The way in which he does things."

"Ah. How come? I don't understand."

Slytherin looked at Harry for a few seconds with the same professorial attitude with which he enveloped himself before setting off on a monologue but instead asked a question.

"Have you read the two books I have assigned you recently?"

"I am reading them. The _Art of War_ is a lot easier to understand than _Institutions_ , but I'm trying to read them together."

"Good", Salazar nodded, "reading them in tandem is a good way of creating the appropriate context. They compliment each other well. You have asked me why there is only one newspaper and one major school in Magical Britain. Given our conversation about why there is discrimination against Muggle-borns, the insights on _Institutions_ on the way societies are built and the importance of the flow of information given by _The_ _Art of War_ , have you reached an answer to your question?"

"Well," Harry said slowly after thinking for a few minutes, "I'm not sure, but I think it has to do with controlling how people think."

"Oh?" asked Salazar, with a questioning eyebrow cocked.

"Uh, I think so", responded Harry, less confidently, "it would make sense. If you only have one school where people learn how to do magic, and if you only have one news source, you control how people think and what they think. It makes breaking the hold that the wealthiest people have on power much more difficult."

"That is correct, Harry," complimented Salazar with a proud smile, making Harry beam at the portrait himself, "and after a fact, that is what Dumbledore is doing, but for a different reason."

"Albus is, at heart, an excellent teacher", Slytherin continued with distant eyes glancing at an imaginary point beyond the Chamber, "his time here as a Transfiguration Professor was extraordinary. He is unmatched as a Transfiguration Master, and his grasp on how to impart knowledge is staggering."

Looking at Harry and frowning, he continued, "People assume that because someone is an exceptional teacher, they will be an exceptional Headmaster, but that is not the case. The problem with Albus Dumbledore is that he fancies himself as the moral compass of the Wizarding World, and after his defeat of Grindelwald, wizards everywhere were more than happy to give him the position. Using his position as Headmaster of Hogwarts, and afterward, as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and Supreme Mugwump of the ICW, he has locked away entire fields of magic as being Dark for fear of empowering another Gellert Grindelwald, even though he practices them, such as Occlumency and Legilimency, amongst others. By restricting the information made available for wizards here at Hogwarts and in other schools throughout the country and around the world, he believes that he is creating stability.

"That is a tremendously arrogant position, but one that many wizards wiser than him have taken in the past. Our long lives and magical abilities make us naturally fearful of change, and I believe that in Albus's case his past with Grindelwald makes him even more so, perhaps because he has once fallen into the temptation of wrongful revolution, and in his mind, if he, The Moral Compass of Wizardingkind, can be seduced, then _anyone_ can. Thusly, to avoid another conflict such as Grindelwald's, his solution is to create a world in which only the magic deemed by him as safe can be taught and practiced.

"In this misguided attempt to create a magically benign utopia, he has forgotten three things; two of which have affected you greatly. The first is the negative reaction to capacities such as Parseltongue, which are inherently neutral but are viewed by the public as tremendously malign, not to speak of talents that are frowned upon but not maligned, such as Metamorphmagi. Any field of magic outside the narrow gap defined as Light by Dumbledore has been surreptitiously demonized by the Wizarding World using institutions such as Hogwarts and the Daily Prophet and consequently has marginalized greatly those with said talents and affectations. The second is his extreme aversion to violence. As a teacher at heart, he tends to believe the best in people and tries to guide them to the correct path, but he forgets that not all men are as benign as him. Albus is an exceptionally well-intended person, but he is idealistic to the extreme. One of the reasons that the conflict against Riddle was going so poorly was the pressure that he exerted to keep the fighting above board, so to speak. What is the first thing you read on _The Art of War,_ Harry?"

"War is a matter of life and death."

"Correct. In war, people die. Dumbledore was treating conflict as if it were a schoolyard brawl, and he treats schoolyard brawls as if they were dinnertime arguments. The things that the students do in Hogwarts these days would have gotten them summarily expelled at my time, but Albus's patience is boundless, as is his lack of ruthlessness. He was restraining information so tightly that for me to understand correctly what was going on, I had to use a line of communication between Hogwarts House Elves that were unwilling to relay information to the Headmaster and Gringotts. _And I am a Founder of what is supposed to be the foremost recipient of knowledge and discovery in the Wizarding World!_ " Slytherin roared the last sentence with a red face and with such intense frustration that Harry recoiled in fear. After rubbing his hand tiredly through his face, Slytherin continued.

"And then the fool makes the same damn mistake that Rowena and Godric made a thousand years ago, and forgot that Hogwarts is not the world. It does not matter if you put pressure on the Ministry to restrict the growth of rival schools. It does not matter that you stop the teaching of alternate fields of magic. It does not matter that you restrict dueling classes and restrict the teaching of wandless magic. It does not matter if you restrict magical research to the Unspeakables because you fear volatility. Ancient families with a tradition of producing wizards have entire libraries of knowledge that the Ministry and the ICW cannot restrict without infringing upon the liberties of powerful men and women. Entire clans of wizards do not have the money necessary to send their children to Hogwarts and thus rely on second-hand and outdated methods and techniques that teach incorrect and unsafe spells and charms. Ambitious teenagers and young adults still make new spells, jinxes, and curses, but without the guidance of a credited Master, lending the activity of innovation to those that are naturally indisposed to following rules. As a result, deadly spells and rituals have been developed immensely in Britain as opposed to healing or potioning. All this does is great an ever bigger chasm in between rich pureblood families with access to forbidden knowledge and the rest of society.

"Child, you have told me that you discovered your Parseltongue during a duel demonstration when a Slytherin student cast the _Serpensortia_ conjuration, correct?"

"Yes, Malfoy did it during our duel on Second Year."

"Under the current curriculum of this school, conjuring spells are taught only after Fifth Year. How does a Second Year student with average magical power learn the Snake-Conjuring spell and use it successfully? I guarantee you it was not his first attempt, and I guarantee you he learned it from his family during the summer. The Trace for Underage Magic Usage does not work on heavily warded areas or magically saturated environments such as this school or its surroundings. Purebloods can and do learn magic whilst the rest of the students of this school lag.

"The reason I did not want to teach Muggle-borns here at Hogwarts was not out of fear or out of hatred, but because it would have been unfair. How are you supposed to level the field in between children that have lived with magic for a decade and those that are complete strangers to the concept?" Salazar sagged in the portrait, looking older and more defeated than Harry had ever seen him, "But a thousand years ago, Rowena in her magnanimity and Godric in his impatience overruled me and invited Muggle-born children at the school. You would not _believe_ the tension in those first decades between the two groups. Finally, instead and pushing the upper boundaries of magical knowledge, Helga convinced the two to level the field _downwards_ to accommodate all the students. To me, that was the final blow. I could not in good conscience stay at a school that provided less than the apex of its capabilities to its students. I tried to convince them to create a secondary castle to teach Muggle-borns at a more sedate pace, but Hogwarts was the summation of our legacies, and our arrogance overrode our good sense. And now Albus does the same and heavily slows down the rate in which people learn magic in exchange for a misguided sense of stability."

There was a heavy silence for many minutes after this, and Harry's head was spinning with the information. He supported his head with his elbows propped up on the table and dispaired. How was he supposed to go against _this_? A man not only with unrivaled magical power and experience but also with tons of political experience, and who has an inexplicable obsession with him? Not to mention the whole Voldemort problem which itself nearly bent a whole country to its knees sparsely a decade and a half ago? The enormity of the task bore down upon Harry before he glanced at the portrait with a bolt of energy.

"Salazar, I want to undo this. This should be my ambition."

"Your ambitions are not to be based upon what should be done, but what you wish to do."

"I know, and this is what I wish to do. You said that the Magical World is stagnant while the Muggle world is dynamic. I want the Magical World to be as dynamic and innovative as the Muggle one can be."

"Do you wish to merge the two worlds?" Salazar asked with as neutral an expression as he could.

"No," Harry responded immediately before hesitatingly moving on, "I don't know what level of interaction between the worlds would be best, and I know that my view of Muggles is tainted by the Dursley's, but there is a lot of hatred in the Muggle world too. I think that exposing magic to non-magical people would only cause violence."

"Very well, I agree. I feared you had taken the wrong lecture from my teachings", Salazar nodded before continuing, "are you sure that this is not just an attempt at revenge against the two wizards that have dictated your life so far?"

"Yes, I am. I do hate Voldemort", Harry ignored the hiss of annoyance at the use of the moniker, "but I do not hate Dumbledore, I just think he is wrong. I do not want to live in the Muggle world anymore, and I do not want to live in a Magical World in which people and whole fields of magic are discriminated against for no good reason, in which my godfather was imprisoned unfairly and without a trial, or in which my best friend is treated as scum despite being the most intelligent witch I know. I have no idea how I am going to achieve this, and I know it will probably take decades, but you said that the Boy-Who-Lived is an institution, right? Then only I can do this."

"I am proud of you, Harry," Slytherin smiled gently, before straightening out and proclaiming, "but you do know that Gryffindor Harry will not be able to achieve this, no?"

"Ergh, yeah, I figured that much," Harry winced in embarrassment before clearing his throat and assuming the most commanding stance a 13-year-old child could whilst sitting down and talking to a painting, "what would you have me do?"

"I have no idea," Slytherin chuckled, "it is your ambition, after all, and not mine. I will not treat you like a minion to my own goals."

"I appreciate it," Harry smiled, before frowning in thought, "you often make comparisons between the Muggle and Magical worlds, right? Is there a period where something similar to what is happening nowadays in Magical Britain has happened in the Muggle one?"

"There has," Salazar nodded approvingly before grinning somewhat sadly, "the Muggle call it the Dark Ages."

"Well," Harry drawled, a newly acquired habit from this session, "that's encouraging."

"Indeed," Slytherin laughed softly, "but it will please you that those days are no more, and the answer predates the Industrial Revolution, so you will not have to create the wizarding equivalent of a Spinning Jenny."

"Let's hear it then!" Harry said enthusiastically.

"In regards as to why we can compare present-day Wizarding society to the Muggle Dark Ages, one can point to the monopoly of information and education given to the Church during the Middle Ages and to the dearth of innovation inside Christian Europe as a direct result of sacrificing risk to live in a society guided by a strict moral code and with a scarce history of dissension and make a direct beeline to current Magical society," Salazar explained, once again assuming a professorial tone and marking his words with sharps movements of his hands and fingers, "more pointedly, one can also mention the period's constant wars, famines, and diseases as abject failures of this methodology, particularly in contrast to the Golden Age of Islam barely across the Mediterranean.

"According to Marxist historians, the transition between traditional feudalism and modern capitalism began with the Bubonic Plague. In particular, a historian by the name of Rodney Hilton describes the effects that having scores of peasants killed by the disease as overwhelmingly positive for those that survived, and suggests that wages had grown as a result of a lack of supply of able-bodied workers, creating an economic situation where landlords had lost vast amounts of their previous leverage."

"So, basically, to shake up the current status of the Wizarding world, where a very select minority of people hold economic and political power at the expense of an ignorant majority, all I have to do is kill a bunch of Muggle-borns and Half-bloods, so that those who survive can overthrow the Pureblood majority?" Harry deadpanned at Salazar, who deadpanned back.

"Do not forget to kill the poorer Purebloods and creatures such as Goblins and House Elves."

"Yeah, I don't fancy becoming a Dark Lord at the age of thirteen."

"I assumed thusly," Salazar shrugged, "sometimes a reasonable solution can not be found in the Muggle world. We must innovate."

"Marvellous," Harry sighed, again hiding his head behind his hands and supporting its weight on his elbows. "We talked about Dumbledore's way of doing things", he said, after a short silence, "should we try to look at things from Riddle's point of view?"

At this question, Slytherin visibly hesitated, making Harry frown questioningly. Seeing his faux pas, the portrait sighed heavily and said slowly, "I will admit to not understanding Riddle all that well. The reason why I detest the assumed moniker of Lord Voldemort is that I find it nearly impossible to reconcile what I have glanced from Tom Riddle with what I have read and been told about Voldemort. It is as if they are completely different people. Riddle was the last person I had seen before you, nearly fifty years ago.

"People always remember Voldemort for his ruthlessness, violence, and power, but I remember Riddle for his immense intellect and ambition." Again, Salazar hesitated before continuing softly. "The reason I asked you if your motives for choosing your ambition were not borne out of revenge was that he chose the same ambition, in a way."

Harry paled significantly at the idea that his mind was wired as similarly as Voldemort's, and Salazar must have noticed because he quickly added "I think you two are very different people, Harry. Mostly, I _think_ he wanted to take revenge on the Magical World as it stood because it did not provide him with the shelter he desired from the abusive, loveless, and poor orphanage he was raised in, and specifically, he wanted to take revenge on Dumbledore for both introducing him to the magical world and creating false expectations, and for failing to allow him to leave the orphanage permanently. He complained about that last one a lot. In this, you two are similar. But you are a far more loving and understanding person than he, and you compensate the depths of his intellect with a courageous and open-minded spirit.

"The thing is, I do not believe that Riddle's _modus operandi_ was so simplistic as _revenge_ , or as straightforward as just _avoiding_ _death_. The man was far too intelligent for that. He must have an ulterior motive, but at this, I am at a disadvantage. As sympathetic as I am to your plight, I was born rich, Pureblood, and in the Magical world. I do not know what Muggle-raised such as you and Riddle think. To be honest, Harry, I think you must have a greater chance of understanding his motives than I ever will."

Ignoring the dark cold feeling in his chest at the thought of the similarities between himself and Riddle, Harry decided to ponder the question. Slytherin went back to playing chess with Basil while Harry considered the problem. He thought about what he would have done if he had no friends and no scruples, only a burning desire to change and rule the world in a manner that suited himself. After many minutes of contemplation, Harry suddenly stood, startling the Cobra that hissed, complaining about losing focus.

"Salazar, did you and Riddle also talk often about the Muggle world?"

"Yes," Harry's blood ran cold, making Slytherin frown, "I do not understand why you are so spooked about this. It is a common thread between all my mentorees."

"Salazar," Harry gulped nervously, trembling, "what if Riddle went with the Bubonic Plague answer? We already know that he does not believe in Pureblood supremacy, being a Half-blood. You said that he was very intelligent, so he must have realized that the idea Purebloods were more magically powerful than others was nonsense. And the shade I fought with at the Chamber called himself the greatest wizard of all time. He couldn't be a Pureblood supremacist if the greatest wizard of all time were the son a Muggle."

"That makes no sense," Salazar mumbled but had also paled at the implication that he unwittingly played a role in creating Voldemort out of Riddle, "he created the conflict, and he did have a profile of killing Muggle-borns, Half-bloods and the poorer Pureblood families during the war, but he wanted to assume power himself. As Lord Voldemort, he would have been on the wrong side of the historical trend, even had he succeeded."

"Yes, but not as _Riddle_. No one knows that Riddle is Voldemort in the world at large, everyone remembers Riddle as the brilliant, charming, and intelligent Head Boy of Slytherin with the Special Services to the School award back in the 40s. You said that because I vanquished Voldemort, I became an institution of sorts, and after Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald, _he was given every position of power available in the Wizarding World except Minister of Magic, and only because he denied it_. What if _Riddle_ planned on killing _Voldemort_ and using that leverage to create a world after his image? As long as Dumbledore died in the process, he would fulfill Dumbledore's current position, but without any concerns with maintaining stability. It would also explain his obsession with immortality. Not only would he rule forever, and could probably create some justification for the fact, he had no idea how long he would take to enact this ambition. He would have to be immortal to give him the greatest chance of success."

After what felt like hours of silence, Salazar looked at him straight in the eyes, at this point also shaking and white as a ghost, and calmly said.

"Well, fuck."


	4. A Small Step for Salazar

**Chapter Four - A Small Step for Salazar**

* * *

_" Merlin, Salazar, it hasn't been half an hour since you've talked about the dangers of leaving apprentices alone to their thing, and you're already backing out of this?!"_

_"Child, do not speak to me in the manner! It is dangerous to follow this path if it failed so spectacularly before! You must find another way!"_

_"There is no other way, damn it! You are just afraid!"_

_"As you should be! My advice has failed before, it could fail again!"_

_"Anything can fail, should I do nothing then? Quite ambitious of you, Salazar."_

_"Do not lecture me about ambition! I have built a school that has lasted a thousand years and have a legacy known worldwide!"_

_"And you're willing to squander it because you're afraid I'll turn into Riddle!"_

_"You will not turn into Riddle, you pompous Child!"_

_"It sure as Merlin sounds like you think I will."_

_"You are not half as capable as he! I am afraid you will turn into one raving lunatic questing for revenge, but you will never be Riddle!"_

_"That is why I NEED YOUR HELP!"_

Harry and Salazar were finding out that having long shouting arguments in Parseltongue did quite funny things to your mouth. Turns out the hissing also quite confused the conjured snakes which were looking at the figurative tennis match and occasionally looking at each other as if conjointly saying _'_ _Speakers can be quite strange_ _'_ or some another similar sentiment.

"Salazar, forget Riddle."

"What do you mean, _forget Riddle?_ We just figured out that he happened to follow one of my lectures to kill thousands of wizards in a brutal civil war and that he is not quite dead yet for some unforeseen reason, and now you want me to _forget Riddle?_ " Slytherin questioned, still aghast, whether if it was with himself, Riddle, or Harry yet to be fully decided.

"Yes, I do. Dead or alive or somewhere in between, it does not matter at the moment. Dumbledore and the Dursley's are our immediate problems, and we should focus on that."

"They are _your_ immediate problems, I have already told you that following my current advice and methodology is unsafe until I have refined it."

"Merlin, Salazar, will you stop being a coward?"

"I am not a coward, you insolent Child!"

"Could've fooled me!"

" _Enough! Banish him from the Chamber!_" At this order, dozens of snakes emerged from the bookcases and surrounded Harry, aiming to wrap around his legs. A burst of angry and frustrated outrage at losing what had already become his closest advisor shot of Harry, making him stand up, trembling in rage.

" _Do not dare interfere! Protect me!_ " For the first time, Harry had conjured a large group of snakes of his own in his manic outrage, surrounding himself with large vipers that coiled themselves with the attacking snakes and voided their advance. Slytherin was so shocked by the show of Parselmagic that he missed Harry standing up over the table to get to his eye-level until he roared at him. " _I am not an idiot, Salazar Slytherin, do not treat me as one. I may be an insolent child as you call me, but I will not back down simply at your insistence._ "

" _Go find Godric's portrait and bother him with your misguided courage ,_" sneered Salazar, turning his back to Harry in the portrait.

" _GRYFFINDOR HARRY POTTER IS A MORON!_ " Harry screamed, magic swirling around him, making all the snakes in the room stop their fighting and stare at him in a mixture of awe and fear. " _I was supposed to be a Slytherin if not for being told it was the house of the Dark, and if we do not move, that is what it will be! And after that, how long until your House is gone? Dumbledore already tolerates Slytherin House to be hated by his inaction, and I will not do the same to your legacy, nor with mine! Like it or not, Salazar Slytherin, I am your legacy on this day, and I will not allow it to be demeaned by Riddle and the likes of Malfoy. Because believe me, if you want to stop your line of mentorees at Tom Marvolo Riddle, I will make sure that the world never forgets your mistake, and Slytherin will forever be marked as the House of the Evil, and Merlin be damned with the consequences! Now get your head out of your ass and HELP ME! "_

Harry was not aware of how much gravitas he could have whenever passionate, or how intimidating he was whenever truly angered. Salazar was not scared of the child before him - he had faced much worse than an incensed thirteen-year-old - but the intensity and the raw magic present in the room after that speech did surprise him. Harry Potter had always felt like a dam ready to burst to Salazar as if he had exceptionally extensive control of his magic, body, and mind that only really showed itself whenever strictly necessary; such as conjuring an enormous Patronus, defeating a thousand-year-old basilisk, or besting a mountain troll with scarcely any magical instruction. However, out of all the adventures relaid to him by Harry and by whichever portraits still remembered him as being of higher station than the Headmaster, the one that made the biggest impression was outwitting a notoriously intelligent wizard into releasing his House Elf from bondage.

Powerful young wizards abound in the school's halls. Truly cunning ones are rare. Harry tended towards mindless Charges of the Light Brigade but whenever in a bind, he found a clever way around it. Of course, Salazar knew that Harry was so angered that he had barely registered what he was saying, but the fact that his mind naturally played his pride and attachment to his legacy against him was beyond impressive. Whilst reluctant, the professorial instincts behind the man won out against his fear of tainting himself even further, and with gritted teeth and hiding immense simmering fury, he conceded.

"Very well. But treat me with such disrespect again, and I do not care who you are, I will strangle you. Are we clear?"

"Yes," Harry proclaimed, finally lowering his gaze and sitting back at the table, subconsciously vanishing all the snakes he conjured in his rage as he calmed down, "now what?"

"Now we plan your summer. You need to move against Dumbledore. Give me your best analysis of his position."

"Well", Harry started, assuming the same distant gaze he noticed from time to time in Salazar. From the outside, it looked as if he were staring at a book from beyond this world and translating into English, with barely any intonation and almost nothing in the way in emotion, "from what I understand, his current strongholds are Hogwarts, the Wizengamot and the ICW, but it is in Hogwarts that his first and strongest base of support is created."

"Correct. This castle has been Dumbledore's for a century. As a student, he was something akin to Head Boy from Second Year onwards, and his brilliance as a Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts and later Transfiguration made him the most popular member of staff for his entire tenure even before he was elevated into Headmaster. The only period in which his dominance of the castle was cast into doubt was during the events of the manipulation of my basilisk by Riddle and the popularity he attained for having allegedly saved the school, and more recently by the second opening of the Chamber when Lucius Malfoy made his play."

"If I am going to be independent of the Headmaster, I need to gain a position of strength with the students here," Harry speculated more to himself than to the portrait, "I don't think I can influence the Wizengamot to do anything being so young."

"Again, correct. Technically you do have a future position in the body practically assured being the only member of the Potter family, but you are not ready to assert yourself in that level of play just yet. What you need to do is become the Albus Dumbledore of your generation."

"What do you mean? I thought you despised the man."

"I do. But his command over his generation and those after his is unmatched, even with the comings and goings of many wizards that are powerful and influential in their own right. You have a large following from young wizards that grew up in the world of the Boy-Who-Lived who are looking forward to putting you on the same pedestal that Albus has been put into his whole life."

"I have so much ground to cover just to do that," Harry grumbled beneath his breath, bemoaning his laziness in the previous three years, "but I think I can erode some of his support in here without giving it to the wrong people. I read in the _Art of War_ that you should use your strongest advantage and press it against the opponent's weak point as much as possible. Dumbledore seems fixated by my stay at the Dursley's and Hogwarts, but there should be opportunities to leave for foreign schools or even to be homeschooled by a friendly family, no? I can leverage that into at least some concessions."

"Yes, and your instincts are positive, but you mistake your greatest advantage," Salazar nodded, pointing at Harry, "your greatest asset is that no one is the wiser about your intentions, even your closest friends."

"Yeah, I can't believe I managed to convince Hermione that there is a portrait of a Muggle-born that appears only before a student that truly needs them after I told her about the Muggle books I bought," Harry winced guiltily, "she has been avoiding me and looking for that portrait for a week now."

"One of your finer ideas," Salazar laughed happily, "it was very impressive."

"I don't like manipulating my friends," Harry mumbled quietly, still conflicted about obscuring his intentions from his closest friend.

"It is necessary," Slytherin shrugged, "everyone is constantly manipulating everyone else, unbeknownst to them. The only difference is that you are aware of what you are doing, and that puts you at an advantage. Besides, deny it all you want, you have a talent for manipulation. That elf of yours is thankful for it, by the way."

"I understand your point," Harry said shooking his head, "but it still feels wrong. Anyway, I understand, not the time to make a power play against Dumbledore and revealing my hand. What can I do, then? Shouldn't he notice any preemptive moves I make and predict that I want my independence?"

"Not if you play your cards right. Dumbledore is a headless man with too many hats. He is blinded by his righteousness into believing that his decisions are best and sparsely spends any time checking into them, and he is so busy with his many attributions that he barely has time to check into his projects with more than just a glance. There is a reason why he never noticed the way the Dursley's treat you, and you can play his inattention against you, even with the guard at their home."

"We are swerving from topic to topic quite wildly. We need to focus more."

"Quite right. I do have a proclivity towards verbosity."

"And the first thing you told me was that pomposity was unnecessary in this room."

"It is not pomposity when it is classy. Now pick a damn parchment and write down what we need to discuss."

"Right, right. Dumbledore's support in the castle is first, I reckon."

"Indeed. Let us focus on that one before advancing. Where is his base of support in the castle?"

"What do you mean?" Harry frowned, "From the students and faculty, of course."

"Yes, but remember, Hogwarts is not the world and the world is not Hogwarts. The students do not live in a bubble from class to dormitory."

"Oh, I get it. Malfoy and his lot don't bow to Dumbledore, they follow Snape."

"Correct, but they do not follow Snape, they use Snape to cover for their rebelliousness against the Headmaster. They truly follow their own families. Specifically their fathers."

"Even more specifically, Lucius Malfoy."

"Again, correct," Salazar cocked an eyebrow, "you have a surprisingly good domain on people."

"Ergh," Harry shrugged, still uncomfortable with any praise whatsoever, "you live with the Dursley's for a decade and you get very good at picking up tells and signals."

Salazar's face darkened with anger for a second before turning neutral and analytical, but Harry noticed. It made him happy that _someone_ was as outraged about the situation as he.

"Regardless, Dumbledore's support amongst the students is not absolute. You do not notice it because you are in Gryffindor House, and both the alumni and the Head of House are as sycophantic about the man as you can get. His support in Slytherin is non-existent from I gather from the portraits, both because of his own biases against my House, and also stemming from the traditional clash between the dominant Pureblood families that make up the majority of my House's families and Dumbledore himself. Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw are somewhere in between. Particularly Ravenclaw has its fair share of Pureblood supremacists."

"Really?"

"Oh yes," Salazar confirmed, "Ravenclaw is a naturally elitist House, but instead of Slytherin's House obsession with blood status, Ravenclaw's come from a sense of being smarter than everyone else. This arrogance is both a festering ground for bigots and frankly hilarious given Rowena's fascination with Muggles growing deeper than any other Founder's."

"And Hufflepuff?"

"The House's reputation for taking in the rest is somewhat deserved," Slytherin noted dismissively, "so its support is scattered, even though there is a tendency to support Dumbledore. I do not think you should be thinking in terms of Houses in this scenario, however."

"Blood status?"

"Blood status. Albus dominates the supports of Muggle-borns and Half-bloods such as your friend Hermione Granger and recently, well. Yourself."

"Right. It would make sense to start there. Muggle-borns are a minority in Hogwarts and I do not have the advantage of being known as the Boy-Who-Lived there, do I? Should I start with the Half-bloods?"

"No, from what you have relaid to me, it is quite a mess for Muggle-borns up there", Salazar pointed towards the school above them with his a movement of his head, "I gather that the best solution would be to fix whichever problems with discrimination occur openly in the school and ensure all students know you have done it. It would create an _ethos_ about you that you could use."

"I'll pretend to know what _ethos_ means", Harry ignored the automatic scoffing from Salazar and interrupted his attempts at defining the odd term, "but I do understand your point. My introduction to the Magical World was lacking."

"So fill the gap then."

"Right, because that is just simple, now, is it?"

"It is. You have a library's worth of knowledge and three years' worth of experience to impart upon impressionable students. If you cannot do that much, you have no chance of damaging the base support from Albus."

"I know," Harry sighed tiredly, "problem is, the Muggle-borns are never all in one place before the Sorting, and after that my leverage diminishes a lot."

"True. Then, create an opportunity to gather them all in one place before the Sorting."

"Huh," Harry responded, before leaning back against his chair and closing his eyes in thought, "I was practically Muggle-born, for all intents and purposes, and my introduction to this world was quite shit, to be honest. Merlin bless Hagrid, but the man was a very odd choice of introduction to the Wizarding World."

"It was almost certainly intentional."

"Ah. Dumbledore?"

"Dumbledore," Salazar nodded, "probably to keep you from knowing too much about your station in the Wizarding World as both a Potter and as the Boy-Who-Lived."

"Fantastic," Harry mumbled. "Well, regardless, a better introduction to the Wizarding World would have been appreciated. It could give me an automatic position of authority if I play it correctly."

"Good. All you need to do is convince a member of staff to do this with you. This falls under the purview of the Deputy Headmistress, but Minerva is fiercely loyal to Dumbledore, and that will not do. You need to find a professor with whom you have a good rapport and that is not blindly loyal."

There was silence as Harry went through the list of staff at Hogwarts before breaking into a wide grin.

"Oooh, I can work with _that_."

* * *

"Professor Flitwick?"

"Oh, Mr. Potter!" Flitwick responded in his squeaky voice, turning around and playing with this mustache in contemplation before continuing, "How can I help you?"

"I was hoping to ask you something about your heritage."

"What about it?" the Professor asked with a guarded expression, expecting to be disrespected.

"Oh, it's not like that," Harry responded quickly with genuinely nervous laughter, "I was interested in Gringotts, you see? My excursions with them so far have been less than productive, and no one ever really told me about goblins when I first came into the Wizarding World."

"Ah, goblins can be quite ingenious creatures," he bobbed excitedly back and forth in his heels, "but the full-scale of services provided by the Goblin Nation is not fully understood by many wizards."

"I've figured that much," Harry broke into a small grin, "even though Binns prams on about the Goblins Rebellions, he doesn't go into detail about the goblins today."

"Yes," the Professor laughed softly, "he does say a lot of nonsense about goblins in those lectures."

Harry raised his eyebrows, unable to hide his surprise at hearing Flitwich openly deriding another member of staff.

"Oh please, Mr. Potter," Flitwick continued with a dismissive wave of his hand, "students are not the only ones that are confused about why he is still teaching. I complain at least yearly to the Board, but there are sparsely any N.E.W.T certificated wizards in History of Magic nowadays, in large part because no one can be bothered with two extra years of Binns' ministrations."

"I had no idea," Harry said honestly, trying to remember any indication of conflict between the two professors and failing. ' _I guess more happens behind the scenes between the teachers than I can expect.'_

"At any rate. You wanted to know more about Gringotts and the goblins?"

"Yes," Harry said excitedly, figuring out that he would truly benefit from Flitwick's insight into the bank, "I think it would be good if you gathered all the Muggle-raised and brought them into the bank to explain to them what they can expect from Gringotts. I can also use the opportunity to teach them about Hogwarts and what they can expect. Professor McGonagall is great and all, but she can be quite... uh, intimidating. As a half-goblin yourself, I think you could give the students a greater insight into your culture too."

"That sounds delightful," Flitwick said enthusiastically, quickly making a note of it in a notebook he summoned silently from his desk behind him, "I shall send you an owl and we can coordinate further at the Alley."

"Terrific!" Harry said, suppressing the urge to ring out of the room in evil laughter. ' _This was much easier than I thought. Hah!.'_

"I am also looking forward to eating some of that delightful basilisk meat you've procured with Griphook."

"Whaaaaaa..." Harry said weakly, his gobsmacked expression betraying his surprise before he could do anything about it.

"Mr. Potter," Flitwick said in a soft voice but with a knowing grin, "I am half-goblin. Please don't think that I don't recognize a power play when I see one."

Still stupified, Harry was unable to comment beyond making unrecognizable noises, making the Professor ring out in delighted laughter.

"Let's just say that arranging the rendering of a fresh basilisk corpse made you a person of interest to the Goblin Nation. And first and foremost, I am Head of Ravenclaw House. Interesting things interest me, and you are interesting. As I've told you, Mr. Potter, I'll coordinate with you via owl. Good luck with your endeavors."

"Right," Harry responded weakly before clearing his throat forcefully to regain at least a shred of his lost dignity, "I appreciate it, Professor."

"Don't mention it," Flitwick said casually. Harry was walking beyond the doorway of the Charms Classroom when he heard the squeaky voice behind him saying softly, "and don't worry, Albus will not hear a thing from me."

Harry looked at the hysterically laughing half-goblin before turning around and walking silently to his bed in Gryffindor Tower.

* * *

' _He thinks he is going to fool a half-goblin Head of House Ravenclaw. Oh, this is going to be a disaster, but it will be a valuable lesson_ ' _,_ Salazar considered, and added after looking at Harry's smug expression, ' _not to mention, it will be hilarious_ '.

"Right then," Salazar said, "next topic?"

"Ugh, we could continue talking about Dumbledore. The Wizengamot?"

"No," Salazar shook his head, "as I have said, you are not quite ready for that level of play quite yet."

"But shouldn't I at least understand the comings and goings of the body as soon as possible?"

"Absolutely. But I cannot teach you that?"

"Why not?" Harry asked confused.

"Because I do not know."

"Wait, what?" Harry asked, completely taken aback, "You don't know?"

"Beyond the basics, I do not. I have never had a seat in the entity, it having been created after my death and all, and Dumbledore does not allow information about the goings-on of the body infiltrate the school in any way. I am aware of the overall picture from limited contact with the goblins, but the transcripts of all their meetings are only available in the Restricted Archives of the Ministry's Library, to which I have no access." Salazar said, before giving Harry a soft shrug, "I am quite capable of discerning the big picture, but I am not omniscient, you know."

"Damn. How can I learn about the Wizengamot then?"

"Either arrange yourself a tutor you can confide in, or grant me permanent access to the Ministry's Restricted Archives. I am assuming that the first would be much more useful and easy."

"Great. Another thing to add to the list, then. I'll think about that one in the future, then."

"No need to hurry indeed," Slytherin said approvingly as Harry made a note in his parchment. "Next?"

"Ahn, the Dursley's, I suppose."

"Alright," the portrait nodded seriously, fighting against the instincts to tell the Child in front of him to simply stay in the Chamber and telling the old coot to go to hell, "We can go get back around to Dumbledore and Hogwarts if you remember something else. You need to find a way to separate yourself from the family."

"That seems quite tricky," Harry admitted sadly, "every venue I can think about would require using magic, and I can't do that outside the school." He pointed at the wand softly leaning against the books atop the granite table.

"Is that all you think magic is?" Salazar asked before assuming a perfect sneer and deepening his voice, "Foolish wand-waving?"

"Wait, what? Snape?" Harry asked, shocked at the mockery Slytherin was displaying against his Head of House, and at the memory about _foolish wand-waving_ , "How?"

"Please," Salazar scoffed, "the man practices the speech in front of his mirror every year. He is truly a Slytherin, but also quite the drama queen."

Harry laughed loudly at the observation until his belly hurt from the exertion. "Oh, I needed that. Thank you, Salazar. Anyway, don't potions only affect magicals? How can I use them on the Dursley's?"

"Well, excuse me," Salazar drawled, "are you a wizard or not?"

"How does being a wizard help me make potions affect Muggles?" Harry asked angrily.

"Oh Merlin," Salazar sighed, pinching his nose with long fingers, "the potion will be affecting you, Child, not the Muggles."

"Ah," Harry nodded sheepishly, "that would make more sense."

"Yes," Salazar drawled yet again, making Harry wince, "it would, wouldn't it? At any rate, you did say that last summer, that family that is friendly to you won a raffle or something like that to go to Egypt, yes?"

"Yeah, the Weasley's," Harry frowned, "what does that have to do with the Dursley's?"

Salazar raised his hand to stop any further questions before explaining, "All you have to do is win something similar. There is no way in hell they will take you in any traveling but Albus would surely interpret your absence as a sign of you being with them."

"Aright," Harry deadpanned, "ignoring the bit about where a potion magically makes me win a lottery ticket to win a trip I know nothing about, Dumbledore wants me to stay behind the wards at Privet Drive. He wouldn't allow the family to leave."

"Ah, there's where you forget something," Salazar said happily but with a smile so predatory his expression looked more like an abstract art painting than a realistic portrait, "Dumbledore is insufferably self-conceited. He will take your absence as a sign that the Dursley's have come to love you because he desires nothing more than to never be wrong about anything."

"Okay," Harry said seriously, any snarky remark kept in check by the unflinchingly predatory smile still fixated in Salazar's face. It suddenly occurred to Harry that he was extraordinarily lucky to have the Founder on his side, "and about this potion?"

"Ah, yes. Felix Felicis. A wonderful potion, that gives the consumer a period of exceptional luck. It was developed by Zygmunde Budge. Same as I have done with Basil, the original copies of his _Book of Potions_ also are imprinted with some of his intelligence, and can guide the owner of the said book towards improved potioneering."

"Am I going to use the book to help with the brewing?"

"Quite clever of you to understand that I own the book," Salazar praised but continued with a much more serious tone, "but no. You will not be brewing this potion."

"Why not?" Harry asked quickly, already excited with the prospect of using a book to beat Snape at his own game.

"Because you would need various expensive and rare ingredients, years of experience and six months' worth of time to even have a sliver a possibility of making this potion, even if Zygmund himself were teaching you," Salazar answered swiftly, "do not interrupt me, Child."

"Won't happen again."

Salazar scoffed doubtfully before resuming, "You will need to buy the potion, and it is heavily restricted. Luckily, many apothecaries sell the potion in Knockturn Alley, but you need to learn to identify a quality sample from a fake or inferior quality product."

Summoning the book using a conjured snake, Slytherin softly added.

"Now to go to the Alley. May I suggest the Goblins?"

* * *

"I hate magical methods of transportation", Harry complained, rubbing his tailbone as it hit the cold marble floor of the Gringotts Authorised Portkey Zone, "Griphook, good afternoon."

"Good afternoon, Mr. Potter. Please come. Time is money, after all."

"How many times have I asked you to call me Harry, Griphook," Harry complained, his shoes making great big echo noises against the hard stone of the cavernous room, struggling to keep pace with the smaller but much more agile goblin, "we have done plenty of business before, after all."

"We will not change our ways of conduct towards wizards at the whims of a mere child," sneered Griphook distastefully, as if the very idea made him nauseous, before smiling rather viciously, "no matter how lucrative said child can be... Mr. Potter."

"Goblins and snakes," Harry muttered under his breath, "I swear there are no sassier creatures."

The pair walked in silence, Harry having to dive his head about the rooms as they became smaller and smaller, and the preoccupation towards accomodating wizards became less and less concerning, before finally arriving in a comfortable room guarded by a big wooden door with golden features and two heavily armed goblins who were staring at him menacingly. Even after coming here to arrange the rendering of the basilisk, the experience of having two warrior goblins sneering at him made Harry vow to pay more attention to Binns' lectures on the Goblin Rebellions, if for nothing else to understand how the hell they lost them, being so intimidating. Griphook quickly did not sympathize with the young wizard's plight, and roughly patted him in the arm before complaining.

"Get on with it, wizard. Give me the key and I will return with the pre-arranged money bag. Gornuk is less gracious than I am."

Suppressing the smart response at the tip of this tongue, Harry surrendered his holly and phoenix feather wand to the goblin guard impatiently holding a magic-suppressant bag with the Gringotts logo on it. After depositing the wand in the bag, the goblin dismissively tied it with a string and threw the bag back at Harry, and gestured him to open the door.

"Mr. Potter, may your coffers always be full. Come in."

"Gornuk," Harry nodded agreeably looking as sternly as he could into the elder goblin's eyes. Older goblins, who grew up before the current state of affairs of the tense peace between wizards and goblins, had a wild look about them that greatly unsettled Harry, and the older the goblin the more paranoid around wizards they got. Were it not for the basilisk being so lucrative, he doubted the guards would remain outside the room, but that small courtesy crumbled before the ferocity of the tiny creature in front of him.

"Filius Flitwick has informed me that you and he will be taking a tour through Gringotts with a new batch of Hogwarts students, yes?"

"Correct," Harry answered, surprised the Professor had moved so quickly. He had yet to receive an owl from him during the summer.

"Very well. Why you lot have decided that you need more information than we give you is beyond me," Gornuk said, the words dripping with contempt, "but I have never understood wand-users."

"Gringotts is a fascinating place, and I wish for more wizards to recognize the fact."

"Sure," the goblin scoffed, clearly unbelieving, "I'm sure that's the reason. I have signed off on it and given instructions to Flitwick. Follow his lead and don't disturb our work."

"Thank you", Harry said sincerely. He had no idea he needed permission to instruct the Muggle-borns with additional information, but he was once again glad that Salazar suggested rendering the basilisk through the goblins. Thank Merlin for small mercies.

"Yes. To the matter at hand, here are the items you have required. As discussed, the urgency of the request has made us increase the Gringotts cut for this transaction from 5% to 15%."

"Remind me to never ask for anything with any urgency from Gringotts without negotiating a fee ever again."

"Of course I won't, wizard," Gornuk smiled widely, a truly unsettling sight, "your foolishness is my profit."

"The next basilisk will go unrendered, I swear."

"No, it won't. Retrieve the items and test them in the next room over. The fee will be collected by Griphook from the vault directly."

Silently standing up with the bag of goodies in hand, Harry walked up to the mahogany door the goblin pointed at and closed it behind him. One look in the mirror and a deep breathe later, he opened the bag and grabbed a necklace with a purple stone pendant covered with tiny inscriptions of runes and put it around his neck. This whole thing cost a fortune, and he only had access to it because of his (still unbelievable, in his perception) warmer-than-usual relationship with Gringotts due to the basilisk being rendered by their workers. ' _If the Ministry knew Goblins could do half the things in their Restricted Service Listings, there would be an army at the doors at the bank demanding their retrieval the following day'_.

His facial features quickly become more angular and gave him an aristocratic presence he would have expected to see in a Pureblood supremacist's, were it not for the still boyish aspects. Five quick drops of aging potion later and that problem was fixed. Beyond his bright emerald eye color and the lightning scar, that being a curse scar could not be hidden by any glamour but could be hidden by his now blond and voluminous head of hair, he looked completely different. The dark and green robes with moving snake buttons gave him the distinct look of a successful and rich if diminutive former Slytherin graduate.

Fixing a disdainful look in his face - which was remarkably easy behind a pointed chin and the Roman nose - Harry raised his chin and looked downwards at the sitting and working Gornuk.

"I will retrieve my things when I return," Harry said in the most dismissive and disrespectful sneer he could muster, making Gornuk raise his gaze from the stack of papers and look at him hatefully, before bursting in merry laughter.

"Oh, very well done", the goblin grinned fiercely after recomposing himself, "I wanted to rip your head off."

Harry blinked before thanking the goblin doubtfully and moving away from the desk and towards the door. Upon opening it, one of the goblin guards grabbed him roughly, forcing the bag out of his hands and then giving Harry his wand back. To his credit, the wand was returned gently, but the expression of disgust in the goblin's face told Harry it had nothing to do with courtesy given to him personally and everything to do with the intense distrust goblins had against wands.

With only minimally more care, Griphook gave Harry his bottomless money bag with the assigned amount taken from his Basilisk Vault and the wizard started his journey quickly to the Knockturn Alley.

Unlike his previous experience in the place, the dark and narrow road of the Alley did not lay oppressively upon him as he walked. On the contrary, other wizards tended to look downwards to the floor as they approached him, with the tiny amount of magic being released out of Harry in his well-masked anxiety to ward off any petty thieves.

Quickly he found himself on the door of a narrow shop with a tiny door with a big metal black mamba serving as a door knock, and huge vases in the display obscuring the view of the shop behind the looking glass. The last time he was here, the door to _The Spiny Serpent_ refused him access, but being a Parselmouth within a subgroup of wizards that worshipped Salazar Slytherin was tremendously useful.

" _I command you to grant me access to this shop._"

After a second of clear surprise at hearing a Speaker, the mamba opened the door, and with a soft _clang_ of a bell announcing his entrance, a bald, old, and rotund man with a bad case of hunchback and piercing ice-blue eyes turned around a corner and stared at Harry for so long that he suspected his glamour had run out, but he kept his reaction to a lazy raising of his right eyebrow.

"How can I help you, sir?" The man asked with a rasping and diseased voice as if his throat had lost a fight with a cheese grater, "I was not expecting a customer."

"Felix Felicis," Harry ordered briskly, taking care as to keep his gaze downwards at the taller man by raising his chin, "I require it."

"I'm sorry, sir", the man stammered fearfully, "but we only sell vases and other Muggle household objects for wizards that are secretly enchanted." He flayed his arms around to gesticulate to the shop, which indeed contained a variety of unmoving but clearly magically affected objects. Harry could _feel_ the charms on the objects nearest him.

"I am already past your blasted door," Harry barked as to disguise his fear of being caught, fingering his wand with his right hand and his left hand pointed accusingly at the man, "drop the ridiculous pretenses. You don't fool anyone with this nonsense."

The man immediately stood tall with shoulders tensed into an almost militaristic stance, and with a discreet clearing of his throat, he responded with a clear and commanding voice.

"Very well. Wait here and don't touch anything."

He went around the back and returned with a transparent vial containing a silverish substance that shone somewhat bluish when examined against the shimmering lights of the establishment.

"Here you go," the man said, softly depositing the vial into Harry's outstretched hand, "one dose of Felix Felicis."

Harry did not have to hide his emotions this time, as an angry and indignant expression thundered into his face as he let the vial fall to the ground, splashing the potion everywhere.

"Do you take me for a fool?" Harry demanded. Normally he would not be so adamant about this, but after reading Zygmunde's book, part of him was outraged that anyone would try to fool him with a deliberated mislabeled potion.

"Ah," the man said, after retrieving his wand quickly from a hidden holster and banishing the liquid and the broken glass from his shop floor, "you do know your stuff. Very well."

This time it was a clear and luminescent soft golden hue that shone behind the transparent hourglass-like vial given to him, and the feeling of the potion as he turned the recipient in his hands indicated to him immediately that this was the real deal.

"I am required to say that this substance is prohibited at sporting events and Quidditch matches."

"Do you take me for a gambling man?" Harry asked, finally lifting his gaze from the inviting and warm potion to the man looking coolly at him.

"We are all gambling men, after a fact."

Harry leveled the man with a more respectful gaze. If only he knew.

Throwing a large number of galleons on the table, Harry responded while looking the shopkeeper in the eye, "Keep the change and I was never here."

"How unfortunate that someone stole my vial of Felix Felicis."

"Good," Harry said before turning abruptly, robes billowing behind him. It took all of his concentration to not wince in disgust as he reminded himself of Snape.

As he left Knockturn Alley and went into the main lobby at Gringotts, where Griphook was waiting for him impatiently, Harry softly muttered to himself.

"Two down, two to go."


	5. A Big Step for Harry

**Chapter Five - A Big Step for Harry**

* * *

"Professor Flitwick," Harry stood up from his table at the Leaky Cauldron and nodded politely at the half-goblin as he walked into view, "it's great to see you."

"Hello, Mr. Potter," the professor responded excitedly, "it is always a pleasure to see a proactive student. Now, I do believe we have a day to plan."

The professor whipped out his wand and mumbled an incantation discreetly at the table before sitting down. Harry raised an eyebrow questioningly, and Flitwick smiled.

"I applied the _Muffliato_ Charm at the table so that no one could overhear our conversation," the professor sat down on the table, using a series of books stored a bottomless trunk to level himself to Harry's eye-level, "a lovely invention from our resident Potions Master."

"Really? I had no idea that he invented spells."

"Oh he did, quite a few, actually," Flitwick confirmed with a happy bob of his head, "many of which were less than savory, I assure you."

"What a surprise", Harry mumbled under his breath, loud enough for the half-goblin to chuckle merrily.

"Well, Mr. Potter," the professor articulated in a voice much less squeaky than usual, making Harry subconsciously lean forward in interest, "before we talk about how tomorrow will go with the Muggle-borns, and before I relay the instruction I've been relaid by Gringotts, I would like to ask you what you are doing exactly."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"Calm down, Mr. Potter," Flitwick assured the student with a calm raising of his hand, "I have given you my word that the Headmaster will not hear a word of what you tell me, and this is still valid. Goblins are very big on honor, Mr. Potter, and I will not put mine in jeopardy."

"I thought you were only half-goblin," Harry asked quickly before realizing in horror what he had just implied and attempting to stammer out an apology, but the professor just shrugged.

"I am, Mr. Potter. But the world sees a magic-user with my mixed ancestry, with my intelligence, and with my size as more of a Goblin than a human. My allegiance is adjusted thusly."

"I thought all Goblins were very suspicious of wand-users in general," Harry asked as tactfully as he could, trying not to embarrass himself - again, "but you do have a wand."

"Very perceptive of you, Mr. Potter", Flitwick said, appraising the student with a glance.

"Trust me, when a Goblin guard stares at your wand with disgust as he gives it back to you, it doesn't take a lot of perception to connect the dots," Harry replied with a dramatic shudder.

"I suppose not," the half-goblin responded with a mirthful voice, "and for the longest time, many of my people did not respect me for choosing to be educated as a wizard. However, my time in the international dueling circuit has brought great attention to the magical potential of other magical creatures in general and goblins more specifically, and more to the point, Gringotts greatly benefited from sponsoring me on those days. So, they have come to respect my magical expertise."

"I see," Harry didn't, but he had no idea what else to say.

"Regardless, you did not answer my question, Mr. Potter", Flitwick said once more on a conspiratorially serious voice, while his feet dangled in front of his books, "you have dedicated yourself much more thoroughly recently. You have always shown great flashes on occasion in my classes. Sometimes, you resemble the same profound understanding of your magic your mother had. But most of the time, you fought against yourself and tried to blend into the background. However, ever since the Sirius Black incident, you have looked entirely like another student. According to Madam Pince, you've been in the library just as often as Mrs. Granger, your assignments in all classes have dramatically improved in quality and your end of term grades were exceptional. I would be inclined to believe that whatever happened with Mr. Black to be sufficient to ensure greater dedication on your part, if not for this, whatever it is. This was calculated and quite clever, but also way too sudden. It greatly implies that you are being guided by someone, and by the looks of it, it is not someone who remotely trusts Albus."

"You knew my mom?" Harry asked, having blanked out of the entire rest of Flitwick's statement at the mention of him resembling his mother in another way that not his eyes.

"That's another thing, Mr. Potter", the half-goblin laughed softly, "you are getting entirely too good at deflecting difficult questions for someone your age."

"Ah," Harry said sheepishly, "this time it wasn't on purpose, I swear. It's just that everyone is always talking about my dad, but never anything about my mom."

"Well, then all the other times, it was on purpose then?" The Professor asked bemused at Harry's slight blush, before deflating suddenly, "But yes, I did know her quite well. Charms and Potions were her great passions in life, and she was studying for her Charms Mastery under me when the war escalated and she and James went into hiding. As for her not being mentioned, she never did get the spotlight as she deserved. She was truly wondrous as a witch, and an even better person."

"Why do people never talk about it like they mention my dad then?"

"Another aspect of discrimination in the Magical World, I'm afraid, Mr. Potter," Flitwick responded in a soft and sad voice, "James Potter was a pureblood from an important family, a boisterous and extroverted man who called himself into the attention of all around him. Lily Evans was a Muggle-born woman who albeit having a fiery temper and a fierce disposition, was studious and introverted. I have always been more partial to Lily than to James, but I am the exception, I am afraid. If you want to hear more about either of them, my office is always open, Mr. Potter."

"Thank you, professor," Harry smiled, trying to dismiss the emotions that always emerged whenever his parents were mentioned. "I do appreciate it."

A minute of compassionate silence hung over the table as Harry sipped on his butterbeer and Flitwick observed him silently, waiting for the emotional young wizard to recompose himself. When he seemed sufficiently recovered, the professor once more asked for the reasoning behind Harry's actions.

Harry did want to tell someone about Salazar. The portrait became as important a professor of his as any other, and Flitwick had proved himself trustworthy recently, but Harry couldn't imagine the old Founder approving of being revealed to anyone just yet. Sighing lightly and finishing off his drink, he turned to the professor and asked.

"Before I tell you in any detail, I want to know something. Dumbledore is your boss. Why are you helping me? I trust you won't tell him anything, but I can never be too careful."

"Fair enough," Flitwick tipped his head at the question before turning inwards and laying back against his chair, "I greatly respect Albus Dumbledore the man, who gave me a job when many others would not provide me with an opportunity because of my heritage, and I greatly respect Albus Dumbledore the wizard, with whom I have had many a great afternoon debating magic and its merits, and who has an endless amount of knowledge and control. However, I have my doubts about Albus Dumbledore the leader. No one achieves the level of political power he holds without being quite ruthless when necessary, and he holds his plans very close to his chest. I can't help but be suspicious of what he plans sometimes, and as a half-breed, I can't help but be disappointed at his reluctance to yield his enormous political power to do more for people like me and like your mother.

"There is a very informative Muggle saying, I believe it is 'blood is thicker than water'. A good adaptation for my situation would be that 'the blood of my ancestors is thicker than the ink in my contract'," Flitwick laughed at his joke before breathing deeply, "in reality, Mr. Potter, I do not think you understand how much respect you have earned with the Goblins by slaying and then selling a basilisk at your age. Fundamentally, Goblins are a warlike people, and we greatly respect warriors. By killing a beast that size at twelve, you called attention to yourself. When you came to me to help organize this tour and show the Muggle-borns the more intricate parts of both Goblin and Wizarding culture, you have also called attention to yourself, once more positively. Your caution when dealing with Albus also shows me that you are not dealing with Albus the man or Albus the wizard but with Albus the leader, the one with which I also have my own misgivings. Furthermore, I was not lying to you that day in my office, Mr. Potter. I am the Head of Ravenclaw House. Interesting things interest me, and you are interesting."

Satisfied with his motives, Harry nodded slowly and leaned back against his chair, looking distantly as he spoke, "I don't think that the Headmaster is doing nearly good enough to the students right now, and I want to help them. Malfoy and many other students bully everyone else with little consequence; the rivalry between Houses skips through competitiveness and goes right through being dangerous; Muggle-borns and Half-bloods are treated poorly; Snape, Binns, and Trelawny are all dreadful teachers; and not to put too fine a point in it, in three years at the supposedly safest place in Wizarding Britain, we've had a mountain troll infiltrated into the school by a possessed teacher, a basilisk roaming free petrifying students but somehow not calling attention to the DMLE, and then we've had Dementors that repeatedly attacked me not being retrieved from the school.

"I have no doubts that if Dumbledore truly wanted to make Hogwarts a safe and productive environment, he would put a lot more effort into it than he currently does. As it stands, things will only get worse, and they will reach a boiling point. After that, Merlin knows _what_ will happen, but it's going to be good, and I bet that it won't be Malfoy and his lot that will pay the price."

Harry turned to Flitwick and smiled sadly, "I wish I didn't have to do anything, but who will? The teachers don't take the students seriously, and on the few occasions you have done so, you've always had your hands tied. The students themselves are quite nasty whenever provoked, and no one makes a move to correct them. I don't think I'll ever truly forget the whole Heir of Slytherin business and how no one lifted a finger to get matured mandrakes to help unpetrify the students. I can't help but think that if Draco had gotten himself petrified, there would have been a whole greenhouse filled with them the following day arriving at the school."

The professor seemed quite saddened by the not-so-subtle accusation, but only shook his head and sighed quietly.

"Trust me, Mr. Potter, I have tried to become more observant, but it is quite difficult to know what is happening in the castle to all the students."

"You didn't have to be observant to know that what happened to me in the Second Year was wrong, Professor."

"Yes, I supposed we didn't."

Harry noted with grim satisfaction that Flitwick seemed quite abashed by his inaction after criticizing Dumbledore for doing the same, and decided not to continue marginalizing the man. He could become a good ally in time, I suppose.

"Well, what's done is done. Now you know why. I do have something to show you here in the Alley, though. We can discuss our plans in our way."

"Lead the way, Mr. Potter"

The walk through the Alley was quite pleasant after that heavy conversation. It was fairly early, so many shops were still opening up, and the gaggle of witches and wizards that so impressed Harry on his first visit to the street was yet to arrive. There wasn't much for Harry to comment on as Flitwick described his plans and the instructions given by Goblins on the visits on the Muggle-borns, so he just listened and hummed agreeably whenever appropriate. In between everything the professor had to say to the students concerning the Wizarding World and Gringotts and Goblin culture, Harry was left little with which to speak, but that wasn't concerning the young wizard. Hogwarts always lent itself to many topics, and Harry had always been more of a man of action than a man of words, regardless or not of Salazar's tutelage.

"Here we are," Harry said, guiding Flitwick to a long but short building near the crossing with Knockturn Alley. There was a stark contrast between the tall, brick buildings filled with windows and colorful decor of the Alley and the mostly white and windowless building in front of them. It was so inconspicuous that it called quite a bit of amount of attention unto itself, but the busy nature of the crossing between the two Alleys mostly assuaged the effect.

"What exactly is this building? I don't recall anything being here in the past."

"This here is an old Potter property. It was held in stasis with quite a powerful Notice-Me-Not in the past, but I have rewarded the building to suit my purposes"

"You don't plan to leave here, do you, Mr. Potter?" the professor asked, his eyebrows shooting up his forehead in alarm, "Albus would tear down whichever wards you put in here and send you to your Muggle relatives within days."

"I know," Harry frowned, "it is _very_ annoying. But I would not live here regardless. The Potter Family used to own a lot of property, but it has been lost as distant cousins married off or died, and when only my direct line remained, we were directly involved in both conflicts against Dark Wizards in this century and funded the war effort quite heavily. Not much remains, compared to the past, but there's enough to be comfortable. But one of the best properties still standing is still. It has been mostly forgotten, even by my family. Gringotts assured me that this used to be a store to sell dueling material, but that was decades before even Grindelwald. When the practice started to faze out, the shop closed and was kept here in this rather blank state. I'm honestly surprised you didn't know, considering your past in the dueling circuit."

"I am not quite _that_ old, Mr. Potter," the half-Goblin said, a tad annoyed, "and I was mostly given my dueling clothes by Gringotts. There are no specialized shops on dueling in England, unfortunately."

"Well, this used to be one."

"Excuse me, Mr. Potter, but I don't see how this is relevant to our future students tomorrow."

"About that. I have an idea," Harry said, with a mile-wide smile.

* * *

"Tell me more about the Trace, Salazar."

"That is a complicated topic," the portrait frowned, "are you planning on using magic over the summer? You do know that the Trace only follows you in Great Britain, and you are already planning on leaving the country for many weeks, so why the necessity for the information?"

"I am planning to use magic, yes, but that is not why I am asking."

"Do elucidate me then."

"I'd like my answer first, please. Depending on the Trace's characteristics, it would be pointless to reveal what I'm thinking."

"Very well," Salazar said maintaining a curious expression, "I am not sure about the details, but as you know it is a powerful Charm cast by the Ministry of Magic as part of a system to monitor and discourage underage usage of magic, with the justification of compliance to the Statute of Secrecy. The system as a whole is quite secret, and not even I know exactly what it is, but some things are known. The Trace is woven into all wands in Ollivander's, who maintains a monopoly in wandmaking in Britain. Not even in Knockturn Alley can you get a properly fitted wand, because it is surprisingly one of the very few things on which even the large influence of the seedier elements of the Wizarding society fail to bend the Ministry. Furthermore, all wands belonging to Hogwarts students have their Trace reinstated upon entering the castle's wards unless that wand is specifically built to be untraceable, which again is illegal in Britain. Other countries, which do not have such restrictions, do not suffer from the same restrictions, and teenagers there can freely practice their magic over the summer, provided they are being supervised by their guardians and all free of sight from not in-the-know Muggles.

"Beyond that, there is also the point wards stop the Trace from triggering the overall mechanism that instructs the Ministry of whom is casting a spell, so it effectively does not work behind sufficiently powerful wards. In magically saturated places, like Diagon Alley, the amount of magical energy imbued in the environment confusing the monitoring charms and the Trace is also not triggered. You already know all of this, and I am sorry to not be able to tell you much more."

"Don't worry Salazar," Harry smiled, "I just wanted to confirm if there were no gaps in my plan, and there aren't."

"Well, do try to not leave me in the dark then."

"If I am to have a position of influence with the Muggle-born and Half-blood students, the best way to do so is to ensure that they are treated with respect by everyone in the castle," Harry gesticulated with his hands as he paced around the office, "and the best way to do that is to shatter the notion of superiority amongst Purebloods so that even a blind idiot could see that very thought of it is stupid."

"That has already happened many times," Salazar said unimpressed, "as I have told you before, Dumbledore is a Half-blood, and there is no greater example of a powerful wizard currently available in the world today."

"You don't understand," Harry shook his head, "I'm not talking about putting one person on a pedestal. If I had to do just that, we already have Hermione having the highest grades in the school. I mean to have _all_ Muggle-borns completely dominate the First Year grades next year."

"And how exactly do you intend to do this?" Salazar questioned, his interest peaked as his past discussions with the other Founders about the merits of teaching Muggle-borns.

"By teaching them magic, of course," Harry smiled happily, proud of his line of thought, but not detailing anything as he watched Salazar struggle to connect the dots. Whatever he said to his mentor now would just be ignored anyway.

After a few more seconds of thinking, Salazar frowned, "Are you thinking about providing all Muggle-born students with illegal wands, or something of the sort? That would be beyond unreasonable."

"Of course not! Who do you take me for here?"

"A Gryffindor."

"Seriously?"

"It's not beyond you to do something so foolish. You did enter the Chamber alone to kill a basilisk."

"I had Ron and Lockhart."

"As I said, alone against a basilisk."

"Hey, Sally died, not me."

Salazar sighed and rubbed his eyes, once more trying to resist the temptation to wipe the satisfied smile out of Harry's face. "Then what do you want to do, Child. I do not understand your Gryffindor mind."

"Then perhaps you should try to understand my Slytherin mind, Salazar," Harry grinned even further, "I did take the idea out of your book, after all."

"Are you planning on building a second castle to teach Muggle-borns?" Salazar asked incredulously as Harry's grin grew once more, "Child, do you know the meaning of _conspicuous_? Albus would be upon you faster than the cornerstone could be found."

"Of course I am not creating a second school," Harry scoffed, "but there is nothing that stops me from getting a place in which to teach magic to Muggle-borns behind powerful wards. This way, when they get to Hogwarts, they would be so far ahead of the Purebloods that any notion of inferiority could be wiped out in just a few years, at least amongst Hogwarts students."

"And pray tell, how do you intend to keep this whole complicated enterprise a secret?"

"Secrecy oaths, of course."

"You intend to swear eleven-year-olds to magical oaths? Are you insane?" Salazar hissed, a sure sign that his temper was about to enter into cursing in Parseltongue territory.

"And their parents," Harry confirmed, to Salazar horror of the idea of Muggle being sworn to pointless oaths when they have no magic to surrender in case of a breach, "don't worry, I have no intention of harming a firstie, even if they do tell on me. The oath would be written in a way as to just stop the student or parent to forget that he shouldn't talk about this... club, I guess. There would be no long-term punishment beyond a mild headache. I fully intend to have you review the oath."

"I don't like the idea of having a weak oath," Salazar complained, "they should either be unviolable or non-existent."

"Well, that is how it's going to go down," Harry said firmly, "I think I can convince them all that babbling about the club is a bad idea, but I can only reassure myself that they won't talk about it to someone who doesn't know about it previously with this oath."

"Fine," Slytherin huffed rather petulantly, "to be fair, you do have a great idea, and I'm genuinely impressed and grateful that you're using one of my ideas. I can lend you whichever books you need from the library. It's not like I would use the First Year textbooks I have buried here somewhere anyway."

"Thank you, Salazar," Harry simpled once more, quite pleased with himself, "I am very happy with this idea too. I already have a place in mind that the Goblins can ward quite effectively."

"You can ward this place of yours using Parseltongue too, you know. It would be much more effective."

"It would be if I had any idea how to do ward anything, much less an entire building."

"You really should enroll in Ancient Runes next year, you know."

"Yeah, I'll talk to McGonagall before leaving."

"Good," Salazar nodded, before staring intensely at Harry, "and do you believe yourself capable of teaching First Years? You are only finishing your Third Year, after all."

"Oh, I am capable, at least in practical magic, but I'm not teaching them either."

"So who is?" Salazar asked, a mixture of pride and confusion at all the confidence exuding out of Harry since the beginning of this particular conversation.

* * *

"HARRY!"

It took a second to process, but Harry turned just in time to be smothered by a brown-haired mop of hair covering his vision and a vicious hold on his mid-section that would not be out of place from one of Salazar's conjurations. Harry quickly dispelled the brown hair out of his mouth before laughing happily and hugging Hermione back.

He was rather startled by the way she was dressed. Seeing her in summer clothing was definitively different from her Hogwarts robes. She was wearing a short light blue sleeveless dress with white polka dots tied at the front with white strings above a v-neck that exposed some cleavage, but not enough to be out of place among the somewhat puritan wizards and witches of the Alley. Even more startling was the enormous white smile she was also wearing as she backed out of the hug slowly. Hermione was always very self-conscious about her teeth, her parents being dentists and unwilling to allow her to magically fix them, so she generally concealed herself to grins, shy little smiles or to cover her laughter with her hand as discreetly as she could. Seeing her smile so openly made Harry happy, and he couldn't stop his smile.

"Harry, it's so good to see you! How are you doing? Are your relatives treating you better? Do they even know you're here? Don't tell me you ran away? Oh, Harry, I know it's difficult, but you shouldn't run away, but if you need to leave at least tell me, it's quite dangerous you know! What if Pettigrew were following you? You need to be more careful! And why did you ask me to bring my wand? I always have it with me, you can't be too careful, you should buy a holster, I think Ollivander sells them, do you know? We should go there right now - hey! Why are you laughing at me?"

"Hermione, calm down," Harry said still laughing, "you need to breathe, you know."

"Prat," Hermione said, hitting his arm, but her smile was still in place, "why did you call me here? The note you've sent me was quite mysterious."

"Flitwick and I want to show you something."

"Oh," Hermione's smile strained for a second before she continued with a slightly subdued voice, confusing Harry greatly, "I thought it would be just the two of us."

"Sorry to disappoint you, Miss Granger", Flitwick chuckled from behind Harry, making the witch blush prettily and try to apologize to the professor.

"Well," Hermione said graciously after trying to get the blush out of her cheeks and apologizing profusely to Professor Flitwick. Seeing Hermione so embarrassed made Harry smile at her, making the witch glare at him before recentering herself, "what do you want to tell me, Professor?"

"This is not my idea, Miss Granger," Flitwick said with his squeaky voice strained under his excitement, "Mr. Potter here is the mastermind of this adventure, I am merely here in a support role."

The witch looked surprised at Harry, with her chocolate eyes were wide open in surprise staring at her best friend, who was still smiling widely at her.

"Hermione, how would you feel showing your magic to your parents, and helping me to teach First-Year Muggle-borns to learn magic before embarking on the Express?"

Hermione's smile made Harry's day.


	6. The Nemean Serpent

**C** **hapter Six - The Nemean Serpent**

* * *

"What do you mean, I can't tell Dumbledore?" Hermione asked indignantly, utterly annoyed at Harry's dismayed look, "Does he not know about this?"

"He can't know about this, Hermione", Harry pleaded, trying not to get angry, "please just listen to me."

"These will be Hogwarts students," Hermione hissed angrily, making Harry half expect her to lapse into Parseltongue, "and Dumbledore is the _Headmaster of Hogwarts_. Plus, he is Albus Dumbledore! What were you thinking, hiding this from him?"

"Hermione, if he knew about this, he would shoot it down, and all of these students would go through the same discrimination that you've been through," Harry argued as his patience was starting to slip, "don't you want all Muggle-born students to thrive?"

"Of course I do!" Hermione said with a ' _duh'_ expression firmly implanted on her face, "I'm sure if you explained your intentions to the Headmaster, he would be more than happy to help these students."

"No he wouldn't," Harry whined, passing his hand through his hair and looking away before turning back to Hermione, "he would, at best, get the professors to come here and teach them, and I still think that's a stretch."

"They are Hogwarts Professors," Hermione complained, throwing her hands on the air, "it would be wonderful if that happened."

"Really," Harry drawled, not bothering to hide his annoyance at this argument, "how many Muggle-borns would still go to Hogwarts if they were subjected to Snape for three months?"

" _Professor_ Snape, Harry"

"Oh, I give up." Harry sagged his posture, with a sorrowful expression on his face. He _really_ didn't want to obliviate his best friend, but he was already fingering his wand and trying to remember the steps necessary to not fry Hermione's brains off.

Perhaps noticing the impending disaster, because Hermione herself seemed to realize where Harry's right hand was and had been unable to express her shock at this development, Flitwick burst through the _Muffliato_ Harry had cast and appeared before the young girl for the first time since the beginning of their discussion.

"Professor Flitwick," Hermione said, still eyeing Harry with a frightful expression, "can you help me? I am trying to convince Harry not to make a massive mistake."

"Miss Granger, please, call me Filius, or at the very least, Flitwick. We are not at school at the moment," the half-goblin said, pulling down Harry's hand as gently as he could, "and I am well aware of all aspects Mr. Potter's plans."

"Of course! You were here before, you aren't supporting Harry in not telling Dumbledore about this, are you? He knew about it and sent you. I knew Dumbledore would send help as soon as he knew about this," Hermione said, with a mixedly smug and relieved tone.

"Miss Granger, I assure you, Dumbledore does not know of me being here," Flitwick responded softly as if talking to a caged animal ready to strike, "and I agree with Mr. Potter's diagnosis on not informing the Headmaster. As I told you before, I am here merely as his support."

"I- I don't understand," Hermione stammered, looking between the two men in front of her. Privately, Harry was relieved, but he didn't allow it to show through his expression. When confronted, Hermione could be either confused, intrigued, miserable, or angry, and while he could deal with the first couple, the last two utterly terrified him, "Why would you not tell him about this? It's a wonderful idea, I'm sure he'd help."

"Miss Granger, I assure you, the Headmaster would shut this idea down as soon as he heard about it," the Charms Master informed the girl.

"But-"

"No buts, Miss Granger," the professor said, allowing his authority to show for the first time, instantly changing Hermione's posture. Harry knew what Flitwick was doing - Hermione had an unnatural inclination to obey whichever authority was closest - but he couldn't stop himself from wincing briefly. He still didn't want to manipulate his best friend and remembering her despondence at not having found the mysterious and helpful Muggle-born portrait in time to embark the Express deeply bothered him, even now, "I have known Albus Dumbledore for longer than you have been born, and I know he would shut down whichever extracurricular educational activity that did not follow his purview."

"If he doesn't think this was a good idea, maybe it would be best if it didn't happen," Hermione defended weakly, cowed by the unusually stern face of her favorite professor.

"Didn't you just say that you thought this was a wonderful idea?" Filius inquired with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes, but-"

"As I said, Miss Granger, no buts," Flitwick said with a bit of steel in his squeaky voice before softening his expression, "you are a very intelligent young woman. If your instincts tell you that this is a good idea that you could contribute to, trust yourself to know better."

Hermione shifted from side to side, wringing her hands and trying her best to deal with her confusion. She was very pleased to be recognized by Professor Flitwick as an intelligent person, but she still didn't know what Harry was doing fingering his wand. It had scared and saddened her to see Harry's face so fierce when talking to her. It was like the Firebolt incident, but much worse. She was terrified, yet again, that she would lose his warmth. This fear was thrown against her reverence for the Headmaster. She had gone against Godric Gryffindor's Hat to follow the footsteps of the wise man after it tried to sort her into Ravenclaw. Albus Dumbledore was a great man. Why couldn't Harry understand that?

But again, Professor Flitwick was also very impressive, and he did know Dumbledore better than her. Maybe he was right, maybe he would not approve of what Harry was trying to do. She half a mind to just go the Headmaster and try to convince him that this was a good idea, but the sight of a stern Harry with his wand out and a stormy expression stopped that thought. She respected Dumbledore more than any other wizard, but she _needed_ Harry's warmth. She couldn't lose it, no matter what.

"Fine," Hermione huffed, looking at Harry with the side of her eyes, "I'll keep your secrets, but I don't like it."

Harry smiled and hugged Hermione fiercely, making her squeal in surprise before hugging him back. She didn't remember the last time Harry initiated a hug and at that moment, she was inundated once more by his warmth and couldn't hold back her giggles of delight. However, that mask of cold determination was now in the back of her mind, and she didn't know what to do. Harry was _warmth_. He needed to remain _warmth_.

"Oh!" Hermione said suddenly, pushing Harry away and rummaging through her bag, "there's so much to plan! I need more homework planners to give to all the Muggle-borns. How many are there? Nevermind that, I need to read my First Year notes again and see what I should teach all the students. I left them at home, I'll take them and be right back, don't wait for me!"

With that, she left, leaving an amused Flitwick and a befuddled Harry Potter behind.

"She reminds me so much of your mother, Harry," Flitwick sighed, "if only she wasn't so naive."

"Yeah, she does have that problem, Filius," Harry said awkwardly, not used to calling any professors by their first names, but having been coerced by the half-goblin to address him as such whenever they were alone, he had no choice, "hopefully this summer helps."

"Somehow, I'm not hopeful. Alas, let us hope," the goblin said darkly before brightening again, "she was not wrong, however. We do have much to plan. I need to go through my old Potions manual for the practical lessons."

"Hermione will not be happy that you will teach them the practical potions and she will be stuck with the theory."

"Perhaps she will," the professor said dismissively, "but there's no way I will allow a student without an O.W.L teach practical Potions classes, no matter how bright. I am only allowing you two to teach practical classes in other subjects at all because I think it will benefit the two of you. But Potions are too hazardous to brew without adult supervision."

Harry nodded, not having much to say to that.

"Well, speaking of Potions, we will need some supplies to teach. I can arrange the ingredients and instruments, while you get the cauldrons. We'll meet back here in an hour."

Harry watched as the half-goblin waddled briskly from the building.

"Guess I'll go to Knockturn, then. Much less expensive," Harry mumbled to himself, "and a lot closer."

Harry didn't bother with his Goblin glamour necklace. Potage's Cauldron Shop may be in Knockturn Alley, but it was more or less neutral grounds. Hogwarts students needed to buy cauldrons, so it was closer to Diagon Alley than the seedier shops where he knew he would be harassed. The shopkeeper may balk at a student buying ten cauldrons, but it was nothing that a few extra galleons couldn't resolve. He had the money to buy them after all, and they could always be reused by the students the following year.

He walked calmly to the store, ignoring the odd stares given to him by virtue of his identity. He still hated it, but he was becoming a more usual fixture of the region after spending the summer around Fortescue's and the Leaky Cauldron, so it didn't surprise everyone else as much. Knockturn Alley still had its fair share of petty thieves, but once more exuding a bit of magic around him was enough to alert the more cowardly types that he was off-limits. The smarter thieves wouldn't go after a famous kid knowing it would cause undesired trouble and the stupider didn't survive near Diagon Alley without getting caught by the Aurors, so they were usually skulking about the far side of Knockturn Alley, where no law enforcement ventured through without good reason.

Entering the store, he called attention to himself immediately by coughing softly at the clerk, who to his credit kept his reaction to seeing the Boy-Who-Lived at a widening of his eyes and a discreet glance at his scar.

"I need ten Copper Cauldrons, please", Harry asked politely.

The clerk was visibly surprised at both the quantity and quality of the request. The reason cauldrons were so expensive was that they were durable, so people generally didn't need to buy more than one for their entire Hogwarts education. The more dedicated Potions students would indeed buy the extra ten galleons for a Copper Cauldron instead of the usual Pewter one, and Potions Masters always bought Cauldrons more or less annually, but why the hell would a kid not even taking his O.W.L's order _ten_ of them? The clerk asked that question, as diplomatically as he could.

Harry's answer was a calm raising of his eyebrows and an extra five galleons in the stand. The clerk got the clue and pocketed the extra money before happily collecting the small fortune in front of him. 250 galleons in a couple of minutes. Not bad at all.

"It will take a while to test and clean all the cauldrons you asked. Give me some minutes and I'll take them here and shrink them for you," the clerk said before turning back and opening a door into what Harry assumed was his storage.

"Now, why would Harry Potter need ten high-quality cauldrons when he's absolute pants at Potions?" an amused voice called from behind him. He turned and saw a beautiful girl with shoulder height dark blonde hair and calculating blue eyes looking at him with an upwards quirk of thin lips that didn't quite qualify as a smile. She wore a Muggle pair of white pants and a black shirt with an open Wizarding robe woven in a crisscross pattern in shimmering gold and off yellow with intricate black snakes detailing in the neck and a sigil Harry did not recognize sown above her left breast. He said nothing, but his eyes did show his surprise at getting caught. "I'm afraid you can't bribe me with some extra galleons, Potter, but I do admit being surprised you would lower yourself to that standard."

Something in her tone made the last remark less biting than it was entertained, and Harry decided to run with that fact, "why would I not use the galleons I have to my advantage?"

"Oh, and good with obfuscation as well? Aren't you betraying your Gryffindor roots doing that?" the girl asked, with a delicate eyebrow raised and a slight elevating of her chin, so she would look down at Harry. He knew that trick and was unimpressed, but the smoothness of the movement told him that she did it instinctively, and _that_ was impressive.

"Not all Gryffindors are stupid, you know."

"True", the blonde nodded in polite agreement, "but none are discreet. So, once again, why would Harry Potter need ten high-quality cauldrons when you are barely above Longbottom in Potions?"

"Why would Daphne Greengrass need that Silver Cauldron in your hands when you're so above the rest of us mortals in Potions?"

"Those of us who are not pants at Potions replenish our cauldrons annually, Potter," Daphne said, once again amused, "and besides, Silver Cauldrons are recommended for imparting better qualities to Healing Potions, and I don't accept mediocrity with my potions."

"Doing some secret summer Slytherin Potions assignment then, Greengrass?"

"Are you trying to impress me with your alliterations there, Potter?"

"I do notice that you are rather good at obfuscation yourself," Harry said, hoping that obfuscation meant what he thought it did.

"I appreciate the compliment, Mr. Potter," Greengrass said with a somewhat mocking bow that drew a small smile from Harry, "your smoothness with words betrays you."

" _Smoothness_ , Greengrass?"

"Well, I don't remember having a single entertaining conversation with just about anyone in my year in Slytherin, and this one is above average. Not bad for a Gryffindor," she said before her gaze became focused on him for a second, "are you sure you are a Gryff, Potter?"

"You were in the same Sorting as I was, you know."

"Yes, but you were something of a Hatstall, weren't you?" Greengrass said, more to herself than anything else, "The longest sortings in the year, you and Granger. Now, she was clearly meant to be a Ravenclaw, and before this conversation, I would have pegged you for a Hufflepuff, but now I'm convinced you were meant to be a Slytherin."

Harry was impressed with the girl's deductive reasoning, and decided to lower his defenses a bit with a lazy grin, "yes, Greengrass, we were meant to be housemates, but I convinced the Hat to do otherwise."

"Why would you convince the Hat to change your sorting," Greengrass mumbled beneath her breath before her expression cleared and she smirked knowingly, "let me guess, Draco spewed his usual nonsense?"

"I didn't know any Slytherins were rebelling against their Prince," Harry said surprised at the obvious disdain coming from the girl in front of him, "or that you thought what he said was nonsense."

"Please, Potter, don't be daft," Daphne rolled her eyes and crossed her arms above her chest, "Draco couldn't be less Slytherin if he tried. That boy is hopelessly Gryffindor. The only reason he is so influential in the House is that almost everyone in our year is a bigoted moron and those who aren't fear his father's influence."

"I take it you are none of both?"

"You guess correctly," she said proudly, removing her arms from her chest and relaxing them on either side of her body, adjusting her robe before addressing Harry again, "Muggles might be different from wizards, but even the richest of wizards could not come close to the richest of Muggles. The Muggle world is much more vast and they are much more numerous. Individually, we might be more powerful, but collectively only fools bemoan the Muggles. My family has had economic ties with the Muggles for centuries, and it has greatly enriched us. We might not be as rich as the Malfoy family, but there is nothing they can do unless they are willing to go deal with the Muggles," at this Daphne smirked, "and they would never do that."

"I don't think it is any idiocy that makes Lucius Malfoy's attitude towards Muggles tick."

"Oh?"

Harry analyzed Greengrass briefly. She was very intelligent, and her mannerism indicated that she cunning beyond even her respectable intelligence. Despite being smaller than him (and it was not like Harry was exactly a towering wizard), her posture screamed political savvy. She might be useful, and it was not like he didn't need help.

He opened his bottomless trunk and retrieved _Institutions._ A quick _Gemino_ later and Harry was handing her the leather cased book.

"What is this?" Daphne said, flickering through the pages and looking at Harry with an expectant expression.

"That's your answer", Harry said pointing at the book in her hands, "if you can interpret that book correctly, I'll let you know my opinion". The ' _plus, I need help understanding that thing and you look like you would get it better than I could'_ was left only in Harry's mind.

"You are not what I was expecting, Potter," Daphne said looking at the book with a reverential attitude. Harry was trying to remember if her sorting also was also stalled because at that moment she looked like she was holding a baby. Couldn't look more Ravenclaw if she tried.

She extended her hand to the boy in front of her and tried not to be offended when he awkwardly turned it from its upstanding position and shook it.

"In case you didn't know, Potter, you just did a rather spectacular gaffe," Greengrass said, enjoying the fearful expression that briefly appeared in Harry's face, "if I didn't know you were Muggle-raised, I would be very offended."

"What did I do?"

"You are supposed to kiss the knuckles of the hand of a woman, particularly if that woman is from a family bearing a seat on the Wizengamot, such as the Greengrass family."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I had no idea," Harry said embarrassed before doing as instructed. It was a bit awkward and forceful, but passable for a literal amateur, "I didn't know your family was so important."

"You can tell from the crest on my robes," Greengrass pointed at her left chest, where inside a golden shield a large white bird he didn't recognize was flying above a field, "any robe depicting a crest is from a Wizengamot family. The Potter family does not have a hereditary seat at the Wizengamot but after the death of You-Know-Who, you were given a seat. Your sons could one day inherit if your family was elevated to the status of Noble, but that is not the case today."

"I had no idea," Harry has assumed his family was a permanent fixture in the Wizengamot from how important his family seemed in his conversations with Salazar. Maybe he meant that the Potter family had an important history, or was economically powerful? He would have to ask in September.

"You really should learn more about the Wizengamot and our culture, you know," Greengrass chastised Harry softly before smirking, "it takes away from your newfound Slytherin personality."

"Great," Harry drawled, "I am become Snake."

Greengrass blinked before laughing softly, hiding her mouth behind her hand, "well, you are already a Parselmouth, you're halfway there. Plus, that was a rather impressive drawl. If you can develop a good sneer, you are already above basically every man in my House."

"I should take private tutoring from Snape," Harry said, bemused. He liked Greengrass's laugh; it took away from her persona and made her look like a girl again, albeit a rich and a tiny bit scary one, "really though, Greengrass, I do appreciate the tip. Do you know any good books on the subject?"

"Sorry, Potter," the girl shook her head, "but from what I've been told by my father, the only book on the Wizengamot available on Flourish and Blotts is more propaganda than anything else, and wizards are expected to know our customs. We don't write what we think is obvious. We really should come to think of it."

"Great, how am I supposed to learn, then?" Harry frowned at the impossible problem before him. He couldn't learn how to behave because he had no family to teach him. Wizarding culture had surely changed in the nine hundred years since Salazar's death, so he couldn't ask the portrait in the Chamber.

"Family normally teaches young wizards, but I guess that's not possible with you, is it?" Daphne said with a sad smile, "Family is much more important in the Wizarding World than in the Muggle one, so no one ever thought a young wizard would go without learning our customs without the family suffering greatly socially."

"Is that what happened to the Weasley's?" Harry asked, remembering Malfoy's instant hostile attitude towards Ron in the Express in his First Year.

"It is," Greengrass nodded firmly, "that's the reason many families refer to the Weasley's as blood-traitors. The families that associate themselves with the Dark normally call any family that sympathizes with Muggle or Muggle-borns as blood-traitors, but the meaning of the term at large refers to any family that doesn't follow our customs and culture."

"Is your family one of them?" Harry asked cautiously, unaware whether the accusation was another gaffe he was unwilling to commit.

"Yes, we are. We are not and never have been Dark, even if our esteemed Headmaster portrays all traditional families not aligned with him as imbecilic bigots," Greengrass's tone turned bitter at the mention of Dumbledore. She was surprised when she noted that Harry's expression _softened_ when she was complaining about Dumbledore. She filed away that piece of observation before resuming, "what you need to understand is that Wizarding Britain is basically another country. The only thing that unites us with the United Kingdom is a vague connection to the British Crown and the geographical borders of the country. How would you feel if an important family of your country surrendered your ways because of a tiny influx of immigrants arriving every year? We owe Muggle-borns more respect than they are given today, but we shouldn't be subservient to a foreign culture in the process."

Harry stared at the young woman, analyzing her again. The way she spoke seemed reasonable, but the one person he believed at first word these days was Salazar, and even that was only after filtering through the bias of a man who was dead for nearly a millennium. He could do some research but decided to more cautious around purebloods for the time being. He nodded noncommittally, noticing that Greengrass seemed surprised at his supposed acceptance. ' _My reputation with Purebloods is probably shit if what she says is correct. I just don't notice because no one has called me out on it yet.'_

"Is that the reason why so many wizards are suspicious of the Muggle-borns? Because they don't follow your customs?" Harry asked, remembering what Salazar told him about the same subject. The cultural explanation clarified better why the standard wizard was so willing to accept what the bigots told them. Perhaps it was a combination of both factors.

"Yes," Greengrass confirmed, "some of it is just bigotry, but many a Muggle-born is not treated with respect because they are a walking _faux pas,_ particularly in the Ministry of Magic, which is profoundly traditional."

Harry frowned. This was bad. He thought that only teaching the Muggle-borns more magic would be enough to merit some measure of respect from the other students and the staff, but if they didn't know how to behave, they couldn't ever earn any lasting respect. Worse yet, he had no idea about the intricacies of Wizarding culture, Hermione was actively hostile to the idea and Flitwick was more familiar with Goblin culture. Salazar probably didn't even think that a wizard couldn't overcome his differences to respect a powerful counterpart, regardless of his origins. The man was clever, but sometimes Harry was reminded that Slytherin was a unique figure in history and couldn't relate well to the average wizard.

In the meantime, Daphne analyzed Potter. The boy showed characteristics that she frankly did not expect. He was conversationally a Slytherin through and through, and she could see some measure of cunning behind his behavior. If even a portion of the rumors surrounding him were true, determination and something akin to pride also was abundant in the young man. And the way he changed subjects from the cauldrons he bought showed he could very well have an ambition he was hiding from her, and doing so effectively. There was no way he was buying ten Copper Cauldrons for personal use, but if not that, for whom?

Their respective musings were broken by the clerk, that arrived with a tiny package in hands.

"There you go," he said agreeably, handing Harry the package, "ten Copper Cauldrons shrunk for your convenience. To unshrink them, all you have to do is touch it with your wand and push a tiny bit of magic."

Harry thanked the clerk and was about to bid Greengrass farewell when she once more asked, "well, now that you have your cauldrons, do you mind telling a friend why you bought them?"

"A friend?" Harry huffed, before asking the girl, "what would you do with the information?"

"What," Greengrass asked innocently, an expression that looked wholly inadequate behind her knowing and intelligent eyes, "don't think we could be friends? This was an agreeable conversation."

"We could very well be good friends," Harry confirmed, surprised at himself for being honest, "but only because we are somewhat similar. And knowing myself, I know for a fact a true Slytherin like you would never make a friend off of one conversation, no matter how pleasant."

"And you know what a true Slytherin is, Potter?" Greengrass asked with a face that yelled ' _you know nothing, boy',_ "I admit you are much more Slytherin than I expected, but you were still sorted into Gryffindor."

" _I know more about Slytherin than you will ever know,_ " Harry hissed in Parseltongue, amusing himself when the girl shuddered in surprise before frowning.

"That sound just should not come from a human's mouth," Greengrass said while shaking her head slightly, "I know Parseltongues aren't evil, but Merlin knows the language is just creepy."

"You wound the noble snakes, Greengrass."

"Please, the snake in Slytherin's crest is just symbolism. Nothing that slithers is noble."

"You would be surprised," Harry said amused, imagining Salazar's indignation at that last sentence, "snakes are much sassier than humans, in general."

"Really," Daphne responded in surprise, "never would've guessed."

"Yeah, yeah," Harry said vacantly, before fixing Greengrass with a glare, "and don't think you can weasel your way out of answering my question if you want my answer on the cauldrons. What would you do with the information?"

"What makes you think I would do anything?"

"Again, true Slytherin."

Daphne was quiet for a couple of seconds before sighing regally and leaning backward, "seriously, Potter, I have no idea what I would do with this information if I know nothing about it. Right now I am not plotting anything, I am merely curious. Once you tell me, I will decide what to do."

"And then, will you tell me?"

"Of course not," this time it was Greengrass with the glare, "I would not be a Slytherin worth a damn if I just blabbered on about my plans, would I?"

In the subsequent silence, Daphne silently paid for the Silver Cauldron in front of her and had it shrunk. When she turned back to Harry, he was staring at her with a pensive expression, making her frustrated. She knew perfectly well that in his position she would be much more reluctant than he had been in revealing information, but he was already way too good at it in her mind. She was always excellent at manipulating people at giving her information without even noticing, and Hogwarts students were hopelessly naive. Harry Potter, the supposedly model Gryffindor, should be child's play, but he had guided the conversation so far, and it both annoyed and intrigued her.

"You do know that I can probably guess what you're up to, right, Potter?"

"I doubt that," Harry smirked, which made Greengrass's gaze gain some fire behind it. Harry's initial instinct was to apologize, but the way her whole posture changed gave him pause. It would be a good opportunity to see the real Daphne Greengrass, after all.

"If you were buying one Copper Cauldron, I would already know it wasn't going to be for you because we both Snape would never give you credit for trying harder in Potions. He would most likely retrieve points from you for trying to be better than everyone else with a superior cauldron, and you know any attitude you gain in Potions would inevitably backfire," Greengrass started to count with her fingers as she spoke, "so maybe it would be a gift to Granger, but that Weasley boy you're so fond of is so damn jealous he would throw a fit if he weren't getting a cauldron too, even if he hates Potions, so that isn't it. Besides, you are getting _ten_ cauldrons, which is too many to give to your friends, because you only surround yourself with Granger and Weasley, Merlin knows why. So you are buying them for a group of people. I guess ten could be a nice round arbitrary number, but it is way too much money to just spend on a whim. You are planning something with this, so you are giving them to a specific group of people. I have no idea who, though. Maybe trying to give them to influential students in our year?

"You don't seem to know much about the Wizengamot, so you're probably not going with the Heirs or Heiresses from traditional families. Most likely, you are giving them to the opinion-makers of our year. No Longbottom, but maybe the Patil twins. Speaking of which, probably the Weasley Twins too, even though they are not our year mates. You couldn't gift one to Granger without gifting one to Weasley. Lavender Brown comes to mind, also MacMillan. Abbott would be a good one if she wasn't such a damn idiot. You don't have any connections in Slytherin, so no one from there. Am I hitting some marks here?"

Throughout this whole speech, Harry was openly surprised. She was wrong, but she was uncomfortably close. More than that, she got all that from little to none information from him. Greengrass was _good_.

"Not quite," Harry said, making Greengrass bristle, whether in annoyance or surprise not clear because the next sentence came fast, "but you were close enough."

Harry was quiet for a while contemplating the girl in front of her. If she had gathered all of that from just a brief conversation, there was no way she wouldn't notice the First Years being dominated by Muggle-borns after seeing him buy the cauldrons. ' _She has a younger sister too, doesn't she? I remember a Greengrass sorted into Slytherin this year.'_

"I'll tell you," Harry motioned for both of them to leave the store with his head. Greengrass smirked triumphantly, annoying Harry, "as long as you remember that this is my concession, not your discovery."

"Fine," Greengrass gritted out with a glare before walking out of the store, not giving Potter another look back.

Harry cast a _Muffliato_ briefly, surprising Greengrass out of her self-imposed annoyed stupor.

"How do you know that spell?"

"What do you mean?"

"That's Snape's spell. He teaches it to all Slytherin First Years."

"Why am I not surprised?" Harry grumbled annoyed at yet another evidence of bias, but supposed for once that this time it wasn't that bad, "Flitwick taught me."

"Why would Flitwick teach you Snape's spell?" Greengrass asked confusedly before snapping into attention, "Wait, do you have the Hogwarts teachers in on this?" Harry shook his head.

"Only Flitwick?" At Harry's nod, Greengrass gaped at him for a second before whispering, "How did you do that, Potter?"

"Well," Harry said hesitantly, already half regretting talking to Greengrass about this, "I have a plan to empower the Muggle-borns by teaching them magic before they embark on the Express in September. I already have a building and Flitwick and Hermione are helping me in secret."

"I am tempted to say that you are doing this out of the kindness of your Slytherin heart," Greengrass teased, feeling victorious after getting the information, regardless of whether it was only because of Harry's concession or not, "but you said I was close with guessing you were giving them to opinion-makers in our year, so you're trying to influence them, I suppose?"

"I am trying to become a point of reference for Muggle-borns in Hogwarts."

"That isn't worth 250 galleons," the girl frowned pensively, "you could use your position as Seeker to influence whoever you want in Gryffindor, and your position as Boy-Who-Lived to influence whoever you want in any other House, even in the Slytherins from more Grey families."

Cursing her powers of observation and regretting not using his Goblin glamour, Harry hesitated for a second before remembering the vitriol with which Greengrass had talked about Dumbledore. If nothing else, she would never tell Dumbledore about this.

"I'm trying to undermine Dumbledore's position by stealing his position amongst the Muggle-born," Harry said in a forcibly low voice, even behind the _Muffliato_.

Daphne blinked once. Then twice, in rapid succession.

She threw her head back and laughed unrestrictedly, not even bothering to hide her amusement behind her hand this time. It took a long time of Harry glaring at her before she calmed down enough to talk, but she was still giggling when she answered.

"Sorry, Potter. I'm not laughing at your idea, it's actually quite impressive, particularly if you got Flitwick with you," the girl said before her giggling intensified and she had to breathe for a few seconds before she got it under control, "but the idea of the Gryffindor Golden Boy rebelling against our very own Light Lord is just _delicious_."

"They call me that? I thought it was just an insult," Harry grumbled, still in a bad mood from Daphne's laughter.

"Well, as impressive as your idea is, Potter, you already know why it won't work as you intended, don't you?"

"Yeah," Harry said, messing his hair with his hand briefly, "I'm thinking what to do about that one."

After a few seconds of contemplation, Daphne shrugged internally and asked, "why don't I help you? I can teach Wizarding culture to all Muggle-borns rather easily, I think."

"Why would you help me?"

"Well, primarily because the idea of you battling Dumbledore is still too entertaining to not watch up close," Greengrass smirked at Harry's groan, "but it would also give me influence with the Muggle-borns". ' _And with you_ ' was left unsaid by Daphne and unnoticed by Harry.

"Wouldn't the Muggle-borns talking to you and with me all the time next term call attention to any connection we might have?" Harry asked, trying to imagine how he would live if he had to share his sleeping quarters with Parkinson for years without snapping, "Wouldn't that give you any trouble?"

"Awn, are you already concerned with me, Potter?" Daphne laughed again at Harry's blushing attempts to justify his thoughts, "Not really, don't worry. The Grey in Slytherin will be impressed I'm trying to push the Muggle-borns away from the blood-traitors, and the Dark already dislike me because of my family's dealings with the Muggles. Plus, it will give me an in with the other Houses. My influence is currently limited to the Grey in our year because of the reputation of Slytherin House."

"I see," and Harry did. _Blood-traitor_ still made him uncomfortable, and the thought of explaining his proximity to Greengrass to Ron gave him a premature headache, but he decided to deal with that one later. He had a whole summer to figure it out, "Well, I see no issue with it. Let's go to the building and let the other two know."

"Let them _know_? No convincing them?"

"This is my project. They listen or they leave."

Harry's firm response came so suddenly that Daphne couldn't stop her eyebrows from rising, but Harry was not looking at her and merely stared ahead as he walked towards whatever building he was talking about. She admitted to herself that from all the things that she heard today, even above his rather elaborate plan and his recent animosity with Dumbledore, that phrase was what impressed her the most about the boy. It reminded her of her father. ' _There really is more to Potter than meets the eye_ '.

"Why did you tell me your plans, Potter?"

"You would figure it out eventually anyway," Harry shrugged, still not looking at her, "from the moment you saw me buying ten cauldrons, it was either hope you thought it was insignificant, get you on my side or obliviate you."

"You would obliviate me?" Greengrass asked in an incredulous tone.

Harry's stare was a sufficient answer. Daphne shivered inwardly but schooled her outwards expression to a weak nod of acknowledgment. ' _There_ _definitely_ _is something more to Potter than meets the eye. Merlin, that gaze can be terrifying.'_

"This is where we will hold our meetings, starting tomorrow," Harry said, pointing to the building. Greengrass was visibly impressed at its size and could vaguely remember some Muggle buildings she saw as a child with the same wide but short appearance. Noticing this, Harry couldn't stop himself from gloating a bit, "I've installed wards here so the Trace won't work, and with some help from the Goblins, I made one in Parseltongue to stun anyone trying to trespass with harmful intentions with sufficient strength to knock even Hagrid out. Hurt like a bitch energizing that one, let me tell you."

"Wait," Greengrass suddenly stiffened and cast her own _Muffliato_ , "how on _Merlin_ are you in the Gringotts Restricted Services Listings?"

"You know about the Listings?" Harry asked, surprised. Everything he knew about the Goblins had taught him that they didn't give a damn when it came to family fortune when it came to their Restricted Services. Thankfully, too. He didn't have time or desire to explore anything in the Listings, but the thought of Lucius Malfoy with the backing of the more important Goblin services frankly scared him.

"My father received the Listings after knocking down some laws intent on stripping Goblin privileges in the Wizengamot, and the Listings are not hereditary, so I can only know of its existence, but not about their contents. How on Morgana's name did you gain access?"

"I killed Slytherin's basilisk."

"WHAT?!" Greengrass screamed, making Harry flinch, "You mean that rumor is _true?!_ "

"There's a rumor?"

"Excuse me, I am not glossing over the fact _you killed a basilisk!_ " Greengrass hissed angrily, "Wait, is the Chamber of the Secrets a thing?"

"Yeah," Harry answered warily. There was no way he was going to reveal to Daphne that he was learning from Salazar Slytherin himself. He might never have another moment of privacy in the Chamber again. From the expression on her face at the idea of going to Slytherin's Chamber, she might become a Parselmouth just so she could go there all the time.

"You are taking me to the Chamber when we go back to Hogwarts, and you are telling me this story properly later," Greengrass said sternly. It wasn't a request. Harry nodded dumbly. Daphne did an internal jig of happiness and dismissed the _Muffliato,_ "Let's make your evil plan come true, Potter."


	7. Reading People and Tomes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: This will be the last chapter of the back and forth flashbacks to the Chamber, and will mark Harry entering the summer to reach the point depicted immediately below. From the next chapter onwards, the worldbuilding stage of the story, while never truly dying, will slow down and the plot will become more prominent.

**C** **hapter Seven - Reading People and Tomes**

* * *

Daphne Greengrass always fancied herself excellent at reading people. Some of it came with the territory of being the eldest daughter of Cygnus Greengrass, an important man with an important title and an important position in the somewhat insular society of Wizarding Britain. She had been present, even if in the subdued context of being a child, in many formal events where the powerful wizards and men in their society - a distinction that the continued existence of Cornelius Fudge had proved to her more than once - mingled and provoked themselves openly, before locking themselves behind doors to do whatever it was they did in private. Maybe it was just a more intricate version of what they did at the balls. She didn't know. As Cygnus had reminded her more than once, no more how bright she could be, she was only thirteen. It would be years before she was privy to the doors behind which men like her father decided things, so she regaled herself in her excellence at reading between the lines far beyond what other people her age could.

It had been with not a little amount of pleasure that she listened to Harry Potter describe her as a _true_ Slytherin. It was silly she knew, but open recognition of her personality came rarely. Her father doubtlessly loved his family dearly, but he was always wary to compliment her too often when it came to her talent at reading people and situations. ' _To not cause complacency when you need it most_ ' had been his explanation when she confronted him before embarking on the Hogwarts Express for the first time and dancing circles around Draco Malfoy's attempts to cozy up to her. It was a good philosophy, she reckoned, and it was better to be overly careful than overzealous.

Ever since her entrance at Hogwarts, the snake pit had been significantly tenser. While her father scoffed at any implication that he was the leader of the Grey faction in the Wizangamot, he was the foremost member of the dying breed of those that wished to be unaffiliated with either the Light or Dark Lords that had emerged in the last war. Waning influence or not, the Greengrass family was still important. The Grey might now be little more than a buffer zone between the enormously more powerful Dark and Light factions, but buffer zones were important, and Cygnus played up the importance of his diminutive faction masterfully. Lucius Malfoy could not bend him, even if he had curtailed him some.

So he went after his daughter.

The sons and daughters of the Dark families adhered to the wishes of their parents with much more fervor than those of any other political faction. It spoke for the stability brought forth by the idea of tradition that rebellious children of the traditionally Dark families came rarely. Cygnus had told her that Sirius Black was perhaps the more important member of that truly rare breed of rebellious youth but after that whole business with betraying the Potters... Well, maybe he wasn't that rebellious after all.

So, whenever Daphne spoke with the scions of the Darker families, sometimes it was the children speaking back to her, but she could swear that sometimes she could hear Lucius Malfoy in their responses. Playing against the instincts of Draco was easy for her observant eyes. But playing against the instructions of Lucius was another level whatsoever. Before she could blink, she was isolated and powerless in Slytherin House and Draco was ascendant.

It had taken her two years before finally achieving some level of influence cognizant of the importance of her family name. By then, the damage had been done. The younger years of Slytherins were now assimilated but the rest of the Hogwarts as Draco Malfoy & Sycophants, and the insistence of Snape and the Slytherin prefects that the House presents itself outwards as a unified front made her wiggle room too small for big political plays.

It was a humbling experience, and the words of her father had never sounded so wise. She had decided to lay back and wait for an opportunity to strike, and then use the same proclamation that had locked her inside Slytherin House to make her moves to put Draco in a bind and try her best to hold on to the hippogriff after than. Sometimes she was a bit embarrassed that her masterplan was ' _wait for an opportune moment'_ , but sometimes that's all you have to play with.

And Harry Potter had provided her with a good enough opportunity. There were flaws, but it was nothing she couldn't work with. It was also in a smaller scope than she would have preferred, but for a prototype of something that could be expanded in the future, it wasn't bad.

She also wasn't lying. Talking to Harry had been fun. More than she was comfortable with. It would have been a lot easier to solidify her position if she could play the Gryffindor inside him, but he was refusing to come out to play. To be fair, the Slytherin that presented himself as they entered the building could probably take her much further, but it would also be more difficult.

She had cast her spell with the boy as he was. If nothing else, it would be interesting.

Her talent at reading people had its downsides, however. When something happened truly outside her expectations, keeping a cool head and staying rational became much harder.

So when Harry tried to explain what had happened for her to be present to Hermione Granger, the reaction from the Muggle-born had shocked her. She was prepared for wariness, suspicion, and closed-mindedness. It was a common reaction to Daphne, with her being a Slytherin and all. That would have been easy to dispel with enough time.

But the open and undisguised fury in her eyes as Harry explained why she was there was a surprise.

"Hermione, you know that we don't know anything about the Wizarding World to we can teach these kids," Harry said, frightfully, having also not expected this amount of hostility from his best friend, "Daphne here can talk to them about things that we just don't know."

"Oh, so it's _Daphne_ now, is it, Harry?" Hermione said, leaning forwards in her seat and almost trembling in rage, "You bring someone you barely know into this after half an hour of polite conversation, and you take weeks to tell me _anything_?"

"I didn't take weeks-" Harry defended himself weakly but decided better than to follow that path when he heard Hermione _growl_ at him, "Hermione, Greengrass showed that she could be useful in a way that no one of us could. I was just thinking about the Muggle-borns."

"We could've asked Professor Flitwick to teach them!" Hermione said, pointing at the door behind which the professor was organizing the room with the cauldrons Harry had brought, "He knows everything she could teach them."

"Hermione, he is half-goblin. He told me himself that he doesn't know a lot about the Wizarding World because his entire life he was treated as separate so he didn't even bother."

"And now he is the most important Charms Master in the country," Hermione said before glaring so venomously at Daphne that the young pureblood winced a bit, "maybe what she has to teach isn't that important after all."

"We both know that Flitwick is an exception, not the rule."

"We can make them all exceptional ourselves, Harry," Hermione said standing up to her feet and making her chair fall to the floor with a heavy thud, "that's the whole point of this, making the Muggle-borns exceptional so that no matter what, they had a fair chance. So why are you bringing her into this?"

"What we know isn't enough."

"Then we learn!"

"How, Hermione?"

"The way we learn everything!" Hermione said, throwing her hands in the air and letting them hit her sides exasperatedly, "We read! We research!"

"They don't write books on this kind of stuff, Hermione," Harry said, resisting the urge to look down at his feet and squirm. Hermione could be very scary when she was angry, and the boy-who-was-raised-in-the-cupboard was winning over the teenager-who-is-learning-from-Salazar-Slytherin in Harry's mind at the sight of his best friend so frustrated with him. He thought it would be like he said to Greengrass just before entering, he would tell Hermione what the Slytherin would be teaching, and that would be that. He forgot that you can't just tell Hermione to do something and expect her to comply without digging at the reason why unless you had some authority over her, which he didn't. When that didn't work and he had to deal with an enraged Hermione, he wanted nothing more than to apologize and back down, but he forced himself to look her in the eye and plow forward.

"Then we ask for someone to teach us!"

"That's what I'm doing, Hermione."

"Don't play dumb, Harry," Hermione said, glaring at him and pushing a long finger against his chest as she spoke, "someone we know. We can ask Dumbledore to teach us, I'm sure he'd help."

When Daphne couldn't hold back her scoff at the notion of Albus Dumbledore teaching anyone how a wizard ought to behave, Hermione's head snapped back at her so fast that her neck hurt, but she was too angry to notice.

"Is this what this is about?" Hermione asked angrily, roughly gesticulating to Daphne as she finally stopped glaring at the girl and turned back to face Harry with no less fierce a stare, "Is she the reason why you've suddenly developed this ridiculous distrust of the Headmaster?"

"No, Hermione," Harry said, deflating inwards as he realized that Hermione wasn't yet fully on board with his stipulation that Dumbledore had to be kept in the dark, "I've been worried about him for a while, Greengrass has nothing to do with it."

"Oh, but I bet there's _something_ there," Hermione said with narrowed eyes and clenched fists, "I don't know what happened that you're not telling me, Harry, but I find it very hard to believe that you decided to trust someone you barely know on a whim. I don't care if she's the one that convinced you not to trust the Headmaster or if you've bonded over this ridiculous notion after the fact, but she has something to do with your new attitude against him and I don't like it."

In the ensuing silence, as Harry tried to come up with adequate response and Daphne kept quiet because Hermione had come too close to a correct guess - it had been obvious that the brown-haired witch had no idea the actual reason behind why Harry had established these lectures and she wasn't going to be the one to clue her in - Hermione picked her chair from the ground and sat back down sulkily, crossing her arms and glaring at Harry the whole time.

"Hermione," Harry said softly as he finally regained his bearing, "please, this is important to me. We can teach them all we know about magic, but then what? Do you know about the careers that they can expect after graduation? I know that you can tell me all about how many departments the Ministry has, but we don't know how it works in there, or about the Wizengamot. Flitwick is taking us to Gringotts because he can tell more about the Goblins than anything Binns could say, and Daphne can tell them more about this world than anything we can read in a book."

It was a couple of seconds of silent glaring before Hermione nodded tightly with an expression that seemed completely foreign on her face, "do you trust her to keep this a secret?" She finally asked with a tight voice.

Harry, who had relaxed slightly after Hermione had consented to Daphne's help, immediately tensed back as he realized he wasn't out of the woods just yet.

"I'll be taking an oath of secrecy, Granger," Daphne supplied from behind Harry, as she finally approached the two, thinking that it was safe to interject. It wasn't.

"I am not talking to you, Greengrass," Hermione once again growled, making Harry wince and Daphne back up with her palms up, "I'm still tempted to convince Harry that you being here is a bad idea, and trust me when I say that if I really try, you won't even remember you've ever been here, isn't that right, Harry?"

Realizing that Hermione had guessed that he was about to obliviate her before Flitwick intervened earlier, all the composure that Harry had tried to carefully maintain in the conversation so far vanished as guilt built up inside him, making him sag in defeat.

Seemingly satisfied at Harry's expression of dismay, Hermione huffed and decided to face Greengrass, "you'll take your oath tomorrow, but I'm the one that is going to write it, so you won't get away with breaking it. I'll take a book on oaths and vows from Flourish and Blotts before I go home today and I'll have a written oath by tomorrow before all the Muggle-born arrive."

Seeing Greengrass acquiesce with a small nod, Hermione turned to Harry, "I'm sure you have things to talk to with Professor Flitwick."

"I do?"

"Yes," Hermione said, glaring at him with the full force of her exasperation. Having realized that she wanted to talk with Daphne alone, but unwilling to face down against his still furious best friend, Harry shot an apologetic look towards the blonde before scurrying out of the room.

When the door closed behind Harry, Hermione turned to fully face the other girl and making no move to invite Greengrass to seat down at any of the available chairs, she started talking slowly.

"Harry is very special, Greengrass. He doesn't trust anyone fully, not even me, and there is a lot of things that he keeps to himself and boxes in, even if it's not healthy. His trust, whatever small part of it he decided to give you, is a rare and beautiful thing. You should remember that. I am not stupid, you know. I know you're trying something with Harry, and I don't like it. I know what people say about me. That I'm a bossy, know-it-all bookworm and buck-toothed nerd that loves being right above all else and tries to control everything. Harry might not think any of those things, but he does think that I don't know how to read people because I read books all the time, but that's not true. I may not be great at it, but I'm good enough to know you're using Harry to gain something even if I don't know what it is.

"I know from Runes that you're not like Malfoy, and I know that not all Slytherins are evil or bigots. But a lot of people try to approach Harry to try to use him, and I'm keeping an eye on you. If I find out that you're playing a game with him and that you're hurting him, _I will hurt you_ ," Hermione's tone had dropped an octave at this point, and her furious face and grown cold and determined in a way that made Daphne much more uncomfortable. She recognized cold fury when she saw it, and it was much more dangerous than righteous indignation, "I know that you think that I'm exaggerating here, but I'm not. I was willing to risk Harry's friendship to keep him safe this year, and compared to that, you are nothing to me. Consider yourself warned."

Hermione picked up her notes and put them back in her bag and left the homework planners she had brought from home at the table. "I'm going home to plan tomorrow's lectures. I'll see you tomorrow," as she walked out the room, she stopped with her hand on the doorknob and said over her shoulder, "you better not teach the Muggle-borns any pureblood supremacist bullshit, Greengrass."

Taking a second to recompose herself at the sound of Granger cussing now, even after she had held her tongue in the heated discussion she had had with Potter, Daphne sighed as she was let alone with her thoughts. That could have gone better, but it ended well enough. She sat down and rubbed her eyes with her knuckles, a bad habit that life as a pureblood Heiress hadn't yet stamped out. Counting to ten to deal with the emotions that had wanted to spring out of her at the thought of having just being threatened by a witch she knew to be at least magically capable of carrying out that threat, she straightened her robes, stood and paced softly around the room in contemplation.

It was maddening to her that she was caught so unawares and could do nothing but gape as Granger and Potter argued. As much as she recognized her father's wisdom that she still had years to go before she could truly join in the greater scheme of things and help him run the family, seeing that discussion and being frozen so viscerally reminded her uncomfortably of the helplessness she felt as she was being isolated by Lucius' actions through his proxies when she was a still a First Year. If she kept her wits about her, she could have helped Potter convince the girl much earlier. Even if she couldn't help the debate, seeing her there in the room as the two argued only served to incense Granger even further. She should've realized it and should've extricated herself from the room before things escalated as they had, but her body just got stuck with the realization that she miscalculated and she panicked.

She _hated_ not being in control. Beyond this whole thing with Potter allowing her to improve her standing, and even beyond the courageous side of her personality that simply wanted to do with any exciting new thing that came across, she grudgingly accepted that part of her, no matter how small, really just yearned for control of her surroundings, and First-Year Muggle-borns were about as easy to control as they come. That didn't change the fact that this admission made her deeply uncomfortable, thinking about Astoria and how she could be naive and easy to control as a First-Year herself, albeit pureblooded. How that girl got sorted into Slytherin she wasn't entirely sure.

Holding back a resigned sigh, and thinking about the fact she also had to plan her lectures, she decided to procrastinate on her duties and go tell Potter that Granger had left.

To her surprise, he was sitting down in a chair quietly reading, with Flitwick nowhere on sight, and the cauldrons and instruments for potioneering neatly arranged, and entire shelves full of ingredients neatly sorted alphabetically behind a large desk that also contained a cauldron and was flanked by a green board.

Noticing her entrance, Harry smiled sadly at her and closed the book he was reading, "Hermione left, didn't she?"

"She did."

"I'm sorry, Greengrass," Harry said, looking sincerely pained as he remembered his discussion with Hermione, "I wasn't expecting her to be so angry."

"It's fine," she replied, shaking her head before finally not being able to hold back a sigh, "I was caught completely off guard, and I really should've been expecting that."

"You don't know Hermione enough to know better, Greengrass."

"I don't need to, Potter," Daphne denied, looking away and saying, even if her posture enunciated to Harry that her mind was elsewhere, "I still should have predicted this."

"We can't always know how people react to things," Harry shrugged lightly, "if I had no idea that she would be so bothered by you, you had no way of knowing better."

Humming noncommittally, and unwilling to share how she was feeling in regards to her father's words, that were now ringing loudly inside her head, Daphne changed the subject, "where's Professor Flitwick?"

"Oh, he heard the discussion after finishing here and decided to leave quietly while we were distracted to not overhear anything private," once again Harry smiled sadly before continuing, "he left a note."

Well, changing the subject didn't work. Potter clearly couldn't get over the discussion he just had with his friend. Might as well lean into it, "well, at the very least, I don't think you have to worry about Granger betraying your trust."

"What do you mean?" the boy asked, with his interest piqued.

"She threatened me," Daphne tried to smirk, but it came across more like a grimace. Harry's eyebrows shot into his hairline in surprise, "said that if I were using you for my personal gains, she would hurt me."

"Of course you're using me," Harry said as he got a fair away look in his eyes, "something's wrong with Hermione."

"How come?"

"It isn't like her to threaten anyone, it's not her style," Harry frowned slightly, "something's on her mind for a while, I think."

"Do you know what it is?"

"Not really," Harry shook his head sadly, "but I think I know when it started." Hermione had behaved oddly since helping free Sirius on the hippogriff. It had been small at first, but now it was more noticeable. She would still be herself most of the time, but sometimes something would set her off and she would become angry. Ron was usually the victim of her rants, but he had become used to it by now, so whenever her usual grumbling started, only the intensity of her anger surprised him, but eventually, he adjusted. Harry, on the other hand, was unfamiliar with having Hermione going off on him, and the sentiment was awful. It reminded him far too much of Aunt Petunia, even if he recognized that the source of Petunia's vitriol was fear and jealously and Hermione's was usually just concern.

"Care to share?"

"Sorry, Greengrass, but no."

"Awn," she pouted and batted her eyelids at Harry, wanting to bring some measure of levity to the conversation, "don't you trust me?"

"Of course I don't," Harry scoffed at her pout before chuckling a bit, "you don't trust me either. I confided in you because, well, I told you, you'd figure it out eventually. Plus, I think that hanging out around you will bring a side of me that I need to develop. You're the kind of person that I can tell why I'm doing something but not tell what it is. I think Hermione is the exact opposite, and I would have told her what I'm doing by now if things were a bit smoother."

"You rather ruined this analogy of yours for telling me what you're doing here."

"Trust me, Greengrass, you _barely_ know why I'm doing this, and you don't know what I'm planning. This is just the opening salvo."

"Is it now?" Daphne asked, sincerely surprised. She had already surmised that there was a reason that Harry wanted to undermine the Headmaster, but hearing his confidence at proclaiming these last sentences, she wondered just how big the boy's ambitions were. Her response was just a somewhat bashful shrug and a slight smirk before he reopened his book and started reading. Recognizing a dismissal when she saw one, but also not caring, she soldiered on, "what are you reading?"

This time, Harry's smirk grew into a full-fledged grin as he handed her book and signaled for her to read. Daphne opened the book on the first page and was confused to see just an entire page full of squiggly lines that occasionally looped around lazily before continuing in incomprehensible patterns.

"Potter, are you already going senile?"

"Why, Miss Greengrass," Harry said, in his best attempt at mimicking Dumbledore's posture, "senility is just a form of creativity for us more experienced wizards."

"Was that supposed to be Dumbledore?"

"Yup", Harry said happily popping the 'p' and smiling.

"You make a shit Dumbledore, but I imagine him saying some nonsense like that about being old."

"Why, thank you on both accounts."

"You're welcome," Daphne replied drily, "seriously, what is this?"

"That is a book written in Parseltongue."

"Really? You can read this?"

"I can, it just reads like English to me."

"That is fascinating," the girl said, looking reverently at the book, "I had no idea that Parseltongue could be written. I wonder if a snake could read this and understand it."

"Hm... I have no idea. Give me a second," Harry said before grabbing his wand and casting _Serpensortia._ " _Read this book back to me_."

After the snake hissed away happily to comply with Harry's own hissing, he vanished it and turned to Greengrass again, "she could read it back to me, but was having a hard time understanding it," Harry said, before frowning, "but I didn't expect her to get it. It is a difficult subject."

"Who wrote this book anyway? I can't even imagine how you can translate Parseltongue into writing and knowing that snakes can read just makes me want to try to teach my crup how to read English."

"I sometimes get the impression that Hedwig can read things if they're simple enough," Harry said pensively.

"You have a crup?" Greengrass asked, thinking how the Muggle-raised boy could own a dog that is naturally hostile to Muggles.

"No, Hedwig is my owl," Harry said smiling slightly, "the most intelligent bird you've ever seen, with a huge addiction to bacon rinds."

"How does an owl discover a preference for bacon, anyway?"

"By flying into the Hogwarts breakfast table and demanding treats," Harry shrugged.

"Your owl lives a charmed life, Potter," Greengrass smirked, "back to the track, however. Who wrote this book? I can't think of many Parselmouths, and if that was written by Slytherin himself, I will never forgive you if you don't translate it to English."

Harry looked slightly abashed when Slytherin came up, but shook his head reassuringly all the same, "no, this isn't Slytherin's notebook or something like that. It's mine, I wrote it."

"Really?" Greengrass asked, dubious, "Why would you need to write anything in Parseltongue, and why would you be reading it now? And again, how do you write anything in it?"

"Well, it's simpler than you think," Harry said, as he rummaged through his bag and came up with a quill, "this is a quill charmed to recognize your voice and write down whatever you're saying when you activate it. I've been told that there something called a Quick-Notes Quill that does something like that, but this one is accurate. All I do is activate it and starting speaking in Parseltongue."

"I see. That is quite clever," Daphne said, as she picked up the quill, activated it, and started talking random things for it to write down in a piece of parchment she picked up from Harry to test. To her surprise, the notes came in her handwriting, something she chose not to dwell on, "this can be dead useful. Can you spare one of them to give me?"

"I can't promise you anything, it can be a bit tricky," Harry said honestly, "I'll try to learn how to do it and I'll let you know."

"No pressure," Greengrass nodded agreeably, thinking about the wonderful time-saving applications of this quill. Homework would be much faster dictating than writing it down. Plus, it would be great for her Potions! "Well, what is written in your book, if you don't mind me asking?"

* * *

"Salazar, I do appreciate the quill, but I just don't understand why you're insisting that I use it to write in Parseltongue."

"I have already told you, you simply refuse to listen," the portrait chided, losing a bit of its admittedly limited patience, "there are certain things you will want to write that you will want no one else to read."

"I know that, but knowing you, all requests you make have a reason behind it, and acting on the goodness of your heart is not your style."

"I do have reasoning behind this request," the portrait confirmed, a bit amused at how the boy thought he never did anything without a reason, "and I am requesting you to write about what I am about to tell you in Parseltongue for two reasons. The first is that you still have some hardship at fluidly transitioning between English and Parseltongue. That could be deadly in a duel or a fight, and so you should practice. I have charmed the quill to respond to Parseltongue by lighting up its body in a light green tinge, so you are always aware if you have lapsed into the other language accidentally. The second is a bit longer."

Salazar ordered a bundle of books to be brought before him. At the end of what was frankly a menagerie of snakes of different shapes and sizes slithering away about the room, an enormous collection of books were stacked up high in front of Harry, at least thirty, all heavy tomes. Knowing the lengths of the portrait's expectations of him, Harry swallowed fearfully.

"Please tell me I'm not going to read all of this? I'm still struggling to understand some things about _Institutions_ and that book is tiny."

"Do not fret, Child, it is unbecoming" Slytherin admonished lightly before speaking in a more neutral tone, "and you will be reading this, but not in the way you are thinking. These are all books on Ethics by famous Muggle philosophers. It is a true shame that there is not a debate on the merits of Magic beyond the rather tiresome argument about what constitutes Dark or Light Magic or whether those labels are meaningful. There is so much still to discover about Magic and Arithmancy only provides predictions, but no explanations."

"Is there a difference between the two?"

"Scientifically, perhaps not. I am not well versed in the modern scientific method, but it is my understanding that if something can be reliably predicted using science, it becomes a postulate of sorts. But many things in the Muggle world can not be explained by science, and can only be explored by philosophy," Salazar shrugged lightly before commenting, "the same can be said about Magic in general. There are truly wondrous opening for debate on the subject, but no desire to further than the mechanical exploration allowed by Arithmancy and little desire to understand the deeper questions on the subject, questions that are beyond whatever numbers can you tell you about anything."

"I see... I can't imagine how a philosophic debate about Magic would work, to be honest."

"Well, by the end of my explanation, perhaps you will find a way to appreciate how it could be done. You will not have to read all of these books. They are significantly above your level of understanding, and they are somewhat self-referential, so you must understand a lot of what the other books are saying to properly understand any one book, and this is a very esoteric and difficult subject to get your grasp on without help. I simply wished you to understand the magnitude of the debate about Ethics upon which the Muggles have embarked."

"Okay," Harry said warily. He was still trying to understand why they were discussing Ethics, particularly considering Salazar's rather ruthless approach to solving problems.

"To be honest, Child, if you were completely Slytherin House material, I would simply appeal to your sense of self-preservation and dangle the carrot of achieving your ambitions in front of you," the Founder said, before sighing and rubbing his temple with his fingers, "however, no matter how much you have evolved, you will always have a large reservoir of Godric's foolishness in you. There is a reason why your Sorting went to Gryffindor, regardless of your imploring to not be sorted into my House. Because you aren't completely Slytherin, I feel as though the best way you can motivate yourself to any objective you create is if you have a solid moral compass. The point of these books is to provide you with that. Because reading them all would take you years to finish and a decade to understand, I have taken the liberty of procuring two Muggle books through a complicated assortment of communications before reaching your elf."

"He is not my elf, Dobby is a free elf."

"Keep saying that, one day you might be able to convince yourself," Salazar quipped happily, knowing full well that after proving to Harry that there was no way that an elf could have remained truly free without going insane, the young wizard was in denial that Dobby had probably bonded with him without informing him, "your delusions aside, there is also a more practical point to this. These two books are used in introductory Ethics courses in Oxford, but they are understandable enough for someone of your age if you read through it carefully. I have my views on morality and Ethics, but I think you should develop your own opinion to serve as your moral compass. That is the reason why I insist on you using Parseltongue for your notes on these books."

Harry nodded, still unsure of what Salazar meant by how developing his moral compass would help but respected the lectures given to him by the older wizard anyhow. They had yet to disappoint him.

"There is also an added benefit that you will be able to better understand both your Chessmasters."

"What do you mean?"

"Both Riddle and Albus are well-read in these books. People may claim that Riddle acts on insanity or in self-betterment, even if our theory on his motives is correct. And Albus can be seen as a quack with too much power and too little willingness to do anything with it. However, they are both incredibly intelligent, and intelligent people do not do things without a good reason. They have both refined their inclinations and ambitions by making use of Muggle Ethics to better understand and refine their particular worldview. I suspect, but can not confirm, that the beginnings of the rift between Dumbledore and Grindelwald came as a result of Albus reading these books and realizing that their approaches to the stagnation of the Wizarding World and the threat that the Muggles could present were too different for them to remain allies, even if their diagnosis on the condition of the Wizarding and Muggle Worlds was more or less similar."

"I still get surprised at how much you know about Dumbledore and Grindelwald, Salazar."

"Well, Dippet is not very pleased with his successor as Headmaster at the moment, and he recognizes me as being above Dumbledore in matters about the school. When Dumbledore was younger, Dippet was a mentor of sorts, and they would have debates about subjects such as this. Grindelwald and Riddle were both amongst their favorite subjects of debate. He lays out the pieces for me, and I try to puzzle them out."

"I see," Harry said, looking nervously to the two books in front of him. They were each quite large, but much more manageable than the massive pile in front of him a minute ago. If this would make him understand Dumbledore better, it would be very useful shortly. Riddle was still beyond his grasp, and even though Salazar and he had reached a consensus on his motives, it was still conjecture.

"If worse comes to worst, you will end this exercise with a much greater understanding of the world around you, and that can only be positive," the portrait added cheerfully, seemingly still satisfied with himself for managing to buy two books without his human owl-post, even if he had used the owl-post's money for it.

"Or I could be so confused and frustrated that it hurts my chances at understanding anything," Harry chimed in, fully aware of how difficult these assignments could be from his difficulty at reading _Institutions_.

"That is a possibility too."

The two of them sat in silence as Harry quickly glanced at the first pages of one of the books in front of him. He skipped the author's commentary and went to the first philosophers mentioned at all. To his surprise, the book was at least written to be understood easily, but as he went further along with the book he could feel the beginnings of a headache approaching. It got quite difficult quite fast.

He sighed heavily and closed the book, already resigning himself to many sleepless nights.

"Well, Child, I do imagine that this has you a bit disheartened at the moment, and I do sympathize," Salazar broke the silence, seeing how his disciple looked quite tired, "I hope you understand the importance of what I'm trying to convey to you. You being who you are, you need a guiding light to your objectives, particularly as they become grander and grander, to assure you will not lose yourself in the process. When you have a firmer grasp on who you are and what you believe in, setting out plans of action will become much easier, and knowing which lines to cross and which to avoid will also be useful. In the far future, you will have great political influence, so this is also important to assure you have well balanced and thought out moral and ethical principles to support whichever agenda you choose."

Harry nodded but was still a bit wary. All those things seemed so far away that he couldn't help but be frustrated at the things he was learning. They all seemed useful but only in the long term, and he had no assurances he would make it out of Fourth Year alive, considering his track record. Sensing Harry's mounting reluctance, Salazar decided to convey something that was on his mind for a while a bit earlier than planned.

"Harry," the portrait said softly, "I do not say this lightly. This will be our last meeting before you leave for the summer. When you return, if you were careful enough to follow our plans to the letter, you should have had a lot more opportunities to reflect on who you are, and these books will help you along. If you come to me with a more developed idea about what you believe in and what you are willing to do to achieve your goals, I will start your magical training."

That had Harry looking at the books in a whole new light.


	8. Of Wizards, Hedonists and No-Majs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On Hermione: Yes, she's behaving very poorly at the moment. Remember that she's not even 15 yet, and fourteen-year-old boys and girls behave poorly in the face of hormonal confusion, particularly one wounded so tightly as Hermione. She'll get better.

**C** **hapter Eight - Of Wizards, Hedonists and No-Majs**

* * *

Harry laid back on his bed in Gryffindor Tower for the last time this term and sighed heavily. He threw the two books Salazar had given him away from him in the bed and eyed both the enchanted quill and a book charmed to never run out of pages for his Parseltongue annotations.

He had noticed that his conversations with the portrait had borne fruit. He couldn't imagine himself being tongue-tied with anyone his age anymore. Even Dumbledore wasn't as good as Salazar in molding words for his benefit and after months of conversation with the Founder, he thought himself a good conversationalist for a teenager. He had yet to be tested, but it would come soon. This summer he would have to put his newly-developed silver tongue to the test.

Questions on the efficacy of morality were still on his mind as he reflected on his day. He wasn't still convinced that the books would do anything for him, but this was how Salazar was a mentor. Simply telling you what he thought was pointless. You had to come to your own conclusions, and if you missed the mark, Salazar would let you know. Still, this was unexpected. Slytherin was ruthless, that had been clear even from casually talking to his portrait, and Harry wouldn't have pegged him for worrying himself with morals in his actions.

Yet, here he was, looking at two university-level books on the subject laying in his bed. Introductory they may be, but Harry was still a teenager. Bemoaning Salazar's habit of severely downplaying the difficulty of any reading material - ' _Institutions_ _be damned'_ \- he picked up one of the books gingerly and opened the first page.

As always, he skipped the author's annotations. Those never had anything constructive to say. Still, there was an introduction. Might as well read that.

Salazar had told him that he learned fairly quickly reading Muggle non-fiction that the majority of the books were meant to be used as a referential guide, and there was very little that had to be read to understand a book or thesis. ' _No one in the history of the world has ever enjoyed reading or writing an academic paper_ ', he told Harry. Knowing what to read and what to skip in books like this was science the young wizard was eager to learn but felt was beyond him, at least for now.

The first thing that struck Harry was the difference between even the more advanced books he had read in the Chamber concerning magic and the text of this book was how openly receptive to different perspectives the Muggle book was.

" _Ethics is hard. It needn't be weakness or fuzzy thinking that stands in the way of knowing the right thing to do or the proper goals to strive for. We are right to be puzzled by the moral complexity we find in our lives. While we might yearn for clarity and simplicity, this wish for easy answers is bound to be repeatedly frustrated._ "

Harry couldn't imagine a Wizarding book ever instructing a wizard to think for himself on the subject it was espousing. The books in the Chamber were instructional manuals, at most hinting at areas of academic disagreement before focusing on what the author considered to be correct. The ones in his booklist for lectures were even less inclined to admit to the existence of any kind of academic dissidence. Maybe that was the reason why there was so little research done in the Wizarding World.

" _Lots of people believe that when it comes to art, beauty is in the eye of the beholder - there are no objective, universal standards of good taste. Suppose that's true. And suppose that morality is just like art in this respect. Still, our tastes can be educated and improved. Many people are much wiser than I am about music and painting, for instance. Even if there are no universal standards of good taste, it would be silly of me to pass up a chance to talk with them. Why should I dismiss their opinions and refuse to hear them out? I'm no genius. Maybe I could learn a thing or two._ "

Once again, Harry stopped reading and reflected. That was more or less exactly what he believed in before opening the book. That there was no way that it was fruitful to study ethics if there was no absolute truth to be discovered - and he fiercely believed that there wasn't. ' _Moral skepticism_ _is what the book calls that, right?'_

Harry had also figured that the book was way too big to keep absent-mindedly stopping and questioning things without taking notes, or he'd forget the first chapter halfway through the second. So, he activated the enchanted quill, talked a few words to check if he was speaking Parseltongue, and casting a _Muffliato_ , began speaking his reflections out loud, or simply repeating what was written in the book if he found it interesting.

" _As we will see, no fundamental theory about the good life, our moral duties, or the status of morality-has earned anything like unanimous support among philosophers._ " Harry had noticed that Muggles were a lot more flexible with morality than wizards appeared to be, given the opinions people like Hagrid, Ron, Dumbledore, and Malfoy espoused openly. There was a sense of moral absolutism in the way they spoke as if they knew better. It wasn't arrogance, at least certainly not in Ron's case - the boy was as flawed as anyone else, but Merlin knew arrogance certainly wasn't a problem - but simply an absolute sense of Right.

"I wonder why that is?" Harry asked himself, momentarily forgetting the book in his hands, and noting with satisfaction that the quill wasn't picking up on his musings. Maybe it only wrote if his intonation was intending it to work. ' _Magic was intent and willpower applied to reality'_ were Salazar's words, "I guess Muggles don't give firearms to children when they're eleven like wizards do. That kind of power given to teenagers would only work if you _really_ discouraged them to do certain things. If wizards were as morally flexible as Muggles with the kind of supervision we have here in Hogwarts, the place would fluctuate between a battlefield and an orgy."

Harry made sure to direct his quill to write that observation with a reminder to ask Salazar about his opinion. He kept reading until he reached the beginning of his first chapter. _Hedonism._ Harry heard the word before but had no idea what it meant.

" _What makes each of those lives so good? Is there a single feature that each of them shares, something that explains why they are as good as they are? If so, what is it? The most popular answer is just what you'd expect: happiness. On this view, a good life is a happy life. This means something pretty specific. It means that happiness is necessary for a good life; a life without happiness cannot be a good life. It also means that happiness is sufficient for a good life: When you are happy, your life is going well. The happier you are, the better your life is going for you. And the unhappier you are, the worse off you are. On this view, there is only a single thing that is intrinsically valuable: happiness. Everything else is valuable only to the extent that it makes us happy_."

So this is hedonism, huh? Well, it made sense. Harry frowned in consideration. He wanted to be happy, but that was no longer his primary objective in life. The Chamber and Salazar had thought him that being interested held more value to him than being happy, and he could live with that. He would prefer being free and miserable than happy and ignorant, and he couldn't openly curtail his own potential for the benefit of his happiness. ' _Guess I'm not a hedonist, then_ '.

Harry considered skipping the chapter but thought better of it. He might learn something, and he wasn't still clear on what were the moral motivations of Dumbledore and Riddle. He doubted that he would find them in Chapter One, but hey, might as well try, right?

" _Hedonism offers us a kind of flexibility that some of its competitors lack. Many of these competitors identify a kind of activity, such as doing philosophy, as the greatest good. They then say that those who don't pursue it, or who pursue it badly, are unable to lead a good life. Hedonism rejects all such approaches. The best activity for human beings is the one that brings us the greatest happiness. But what makes me happy needn't make you happy. So my recipe for the good life may be very different from yours_ ". Harry snorted. Definitively not Dumbledore. Something the author had written in the previous paragraph caught his eye in regards to the Headmaster, however. " _Can woodcutters, professional athletes, or musicians live very good lives? Not according to Plato (427-347 BCE) and Aristotle (384-322 BCE), who thought that philosophical contemplation was essential to a truly good life. Nowadays we are likely to reject such views as narrow-minded and elitist._ "

Albus Dumbledore was for sure in the Plato and Aristotle school of holier-than-thou wise men. If you exchanged _philosophical contemplation_ for _mild and controlled curiosity about magic_ , you had Dumbledore described to a tee.

" _In one sense, however, hedonism does not allow us to have the final say about what is good for us. If hedonism is true, then happiness improves our lives, whether we think so or not. According to hedonists, those who deny that happiness is the ultimate good are wrong, no matter how sincere their denial. In this way, hedonism follows a middle path between approaches to the good life that dictate a one-size-fits-all model and those that allow each person to decide for herself exactly what is valuable._ "

Harry frowned. He didn't like the idea of not being able to decide what was good for him and accepting that. It reminded him far too much of Dumbledore's reasoning for his continued return to Privet Drive. He couldn't think of a single person that fit this description of being a hedonist.

He thought for a few minutes and try to list every wizard he had met in the previous three years. Ron came close, but he was way too rigid to be a hedonist. Maybe the other Gryffindors he knew, but he didn't know them well enough, and they didn't seem to fit the bill either. Maybe it was a self-imposed thing because of their House, but most of them had an obsession with appearing brave despite personal comfort that denied them the label.

When he came to the end of the third year, his visage suddenly stood still for a second before his jaw opened and his eyes bulged.

"Oh my God," Harry mumbled, staring at the book half in fear and half in awe, "Sirius."

As if taking a queue from Harry, the book suddenly flipped many pages forward and the quill wrote - to Harry's amazement, still in Parseltongue - the words, in large and elaborate loops, the words "SIRIUS BLACK", in capital letters (wiggles?).

The quill pointed back to Harry as if standing at attention, and suddenly a low chuckle emerged from his throat, that soon blew into uncontrolled guffaws of laughter.

"You wily old bastard," Harry said wiping a tear away and still looking at both his own book and the Muggle textbook in mirthful awe, "this makes so much more sense now."

Harry indulged the seemingly impatient quill and started hissing softly the impressions of Sirius he glanced from conversations with his teachers and his brief interactions with the man.

" _Sirius Black is a loyal and brave man, in many ways a true Gryffindor. He is explosive when angry and Askaban made him a loose cannon against whoever angers him. He has a big heart and a good capacity for affection. McGonagall thought him to be witty and talented but also very arrogant, probably coming from his upbringing. He was exiled from the Black family after being sorted into Gryffindor and renounced his heritage despite being in the line of succession. His actions show that his primary concern was his pleasure and happiness and that his good intentions came from protecting those he loved, probably because said acts made him happy. Sirius seems to be a Hedonist. Reference Chapter One._"

Harry had barely felt like himself as he made the psychological profile of his godfather, someone he had come to care about, but he didn't mind at the moment. This book _alone_ made his Parseltongue well worth it. He could describe anyone and no one on Earth he knew besides Riddle could understand it. It was a diary he could write anything on and no one would be aware of its contents, even if it was stolen. Shaking his head and grinning like an idiot, Harry thanked Salazar mentally and made sure to test his theory on Sirius' hedonism the next time he saw the man.

He continued reading the chapter until he reached a part of that present criticism on hedonism. " _I recall a talk by a doctor who described a patient of his (who had perhaps had a prefrontal lobotomy) as 'perfectly happy all day long picking up leaves'. This impressed me because I thought, 'Well, most of us are not happy all day long doing the things we do' and realized how strange it would be to think that the very kindest of fathers would arrange such an operation for his (perfectly normal) child._ "

That was... blunt. But it was also a good summary of Harry's own opinion on the subject. He noted it down, feeling pride in having arrived at the same conclusion that a philosopher had reached and written about.

" _It's a good thing to be able to exercise autonomous choice, and this explains what is objectionable about paternalism - someone's limiting your liberty against your will, but for your own good. A society of arranged marriages, forced career choices, antigambling legislation, and motorcycle helmet laws might lead to greater happiness. In some cases, these restrictions might really be justified. And yet even so, there is something to regret. We lose the opportunity to take chances, to risk our happiness, to exercise real freedom. Manipulation and paternalism, even when done in a way that gains us happiness, are still objectionable to some extent. And that is because they sacrifice something of intrinsic value: autonomy. Happiness is not the only thing that is important in its own right. Autonomy is, too._ "

YES, YES, _YES_. Harry was now fully convinced that this was the best book he had ever read. This was _exactly_ what Dumbledore was trying to do to him. His intentions weren't bad, but he was paternalistic to the extreme. Salazar's description of the Headmaster as wanting to be the Moral Compass of Wizards Everywhere was never clearer than now.

He ordered the quill to create a chapter on Albus Dumbledore. He reckoned that one would be the longest in his own book. After hissing away his observations on Dumbledore's paternalism, Harry was surprised to see he had reached the end of the first chapter already.

"Right," Harry nodded, "to the second chapter we go."

* * *

"You look terrible, Harry", Hermione said worriedly, frowning softly at the baggy eyes and slightly pale skin of her best friend.

"I didn't sleep properly, Hermione," Harry smiled softly in appreciation, as his tired brain didn't allow for him to do much else, "but I'm fine, really."

"Blimey, Harry, Hermione's right you know," Ron said behind a chocolate frog, "you are looking quite peaky. What's wrong, mate?"

"Nothing's wrong, Ron, just a bad night is all," Harry said, and put his palm up to interrupt whatever Hermione was about to say, "and no, before you ask, I had no nightmares. I just couldn't sleep."

In reality, Harry had just spent hours reading his new Ethics book and making observations whenever he could. He was stuck in Chapter Three at the moment and would've kept reading if he hadn't been interrupted by his hunger.

Harry also kept a wary eye on Hermione as she digested his answer with a slightly sad nod. The girl's temper had been on display much more prominently recently than usual. At first, it seemed like the usual exam jitters, but the exams had come and gone and her volatile temper continued. Harry asked if she was getting enough sleep when using the time-turner, but she had assured him that after the whole Buckbeak incident, she was much more controlled in using the device, and had tried to back off her insane schedule as much as she could. Ron had made the mistake of asking Harry in a rather loud attempt at being silent if Hermione had been at ' _that time of the month'_ once. Harry was unprepared by the loud screech coming from his best female friend as she chased his best male friend around the Common Room, her wand shooting stinging hex after stinging hex at the redhead.

At the moment, however, her concern shone more brightly than her temper ever had. She had brought him pieces of toast and bacon wrapped in a neat napkin when she realized he had been too late for breakfast and by the time the trolley lady passed through their compartment, he wasn't starving anymore.

"You worried about spending your summer with the Muggles?" Ron asked with an innocent expression on his face. Hermione looked at the redhead in surprise at his observation before turning to Harry with a deflated expression.

"Oh Harry, I'm so sorry you have to spend the summer with those horrid relatives," Hermione looked at Harry like she wanted to envelop him in one of her patented bone-crushing hugs and never let go, but kept herself seated after fidgeting a bit.

Ron nodded quietly, not comfortable reciprocating the emotional display the young witch could make, but understanding that the summer was never a good time to be Harry. The wizard in question nodded back, understanding the sentiment, before mumbling something about not worrying about it. Ron had a faraway look as he remembered the bars put in the windows at Harry's room at the Dursley's. Hermione may be smarter than he would ever be, but Ron had his personal kind of intelligence, and after witnessing that scene and how hungry his best friend was after finally reaching the Burrow, he had the impression that his home life was a lot worse than the witch suspected. Still, that was Harry's secret to divulge, and Ron didn't want to be present at the next Mt. Hermione explosion if it wouldn't be directed at him.

"At least we can go to the World Cup together!", Ron said brightly trying to cheer the gloomy mood that settled in the compartment, "It will be brilliant!"

"Yeah, I'm excited too," Harry smiled. Secretly he wondered how this would interfere with his summer plans, but he had a while to figure it out. He wouldn't be going with the Weasley's and Hermione until mid-August. By then, most of what he had planned would already be done or underway.

"I wonder how they can keep so many wizards hidden from the Muggles during the event," Hermione said, biting her lower lip in deep thought, "there's no way that only a single Notice-Me-Not charm could work. Maybe it's a Muggle-Repellent ward?"

Harry and Ron shared a discreet smile. It would be just like Hermione to concern herself more with the logistics than with the sport.

"Oh, Hermione, speaking of wards," Harry said, calling attention to the witch that was still mumbling about power requirements and runestones, "I talked to McGonagall, I'm dropping Divination and taking Arithmancy and Ancient Runes next year."

"Harry!" Hermione squealed, this time not holding herself back and flinging herself at the wizard, that laughed a bit after tensing up in surprise at the sudden contact. This was another thing about Hermione lately. Ever since they freed Buckbeak and Sirius, her temper got worse but she was also more affectionate and enjoyed more physical contact. Their time together at the library also made her even warmer to Harry, which made him slightly ambiguous about this new Hermione. Maybe he could use the book to analyze her too. "I'm so proud of you! Runes are so interesting, and they have so many applications! Did you know that Wizarding toilets have been operated with runes for thousands of years to vanish and clean themselves? And Professor Babbling is amazing, she's not even thirty yet and is considered one of the best Runemasters in the country. Her lectures are the best. I'll get you my notes from Third Year on both subjects so you can catch up over the summer."

"Mental, the lot of you are," Ron said, biting into his LIquorice Wand, "why take the harder classes?"

"Honestly, Ronald! You could learn a lot more if you just dedicated yourself," Hermione huffed. In response, Ron just gently threw his candy at Hermione, who shrieked and sternly complained, "Ronald!", but the uptick in her lips didn't fool anybody.

Harry laughed at their antics, but defended the witch, "you know, you could learn a lot from Runes," he shrugged, "I don't think Arithmancy is your style, but Runes are really cool."

"Hermione, give me my wand back, I want to throw it at Harry."

The three of them shared a laugh and lapsed into casual conversation. At the very least, his summer was starting okay.

* * *

"Where are you going, boy?"

Harry had initially planned on spending some time around Privet Drive to read his new Ethics book, fully expecting the Dursley's attitude towards him to shift from abusive to fearful, courtesy of his deranged serial killer godfather. It irked him that Sirius's reputation was undeservedly in tatters after Pettigrew escaped, but hey, you work with what you got.

The week of being ignored by the household was surprisingly blissful. Ten-year-old Harry Potter would have given his left leg for that level of peace. Thirteen-year-old Harry Potter was quite happy with it too, but the musical stylings of Dudley's whining were enough to motivate him to get the Felix Felicis and to inquire about his family's hidden property on Diagon Alley with the goblins. He would have to wait on Flitwick's letter to move on with his plans, but he could get rid of the Dursley's today if things worked out. It took him a week to find a promotion that would offer a family of three a trip across France and Italy for an entire month, all expenses paid. By the end of the fifth day of searching, he was half tempted to down the Felix Felicis just to stop having to look again.

"I'm just going for a walk," Harry said, looking at his uncle as he visibly struggled between the urge to lock him in his room for the entire summer and the fear of retribution.

"Go do whatever you want, freak. Just don't go doing your freaky things where our neighbors can see you, I don't any questions from them."

"My wand is in my room, Uncle," Harry explained, not willing to admit that he was practicing his _Serpensortia_ wandlessly and had begun to show some results, even if the garter snakes that he was continuously summoning were small and unimpressive compared to the cobras and vipers Salazar could conjure, let alone Basil.

"DON'T TALK BACK TO ME, FREAK!" His uncle snapped before grimacing ugly and motioning Harry to leave already before he exploded and at the very least earned his gruesome end at the hands of a maniacal serial killer by ridding the world of the green-eyed freak. Sometimes, it was tempting too. All too happy to comply, Harry put his hands up defensively and walked away in the direction of the nearest market. What a confectioner thought that chocolates would have to do with a trip across France and down to Italy Harry had no clue, but it would serve his purposes.

Before picking up a bar of random chocolate at the market, Harry scooped the Felix Felicis potion from his pocket at downed half of it in one go. Twelve hours of luck should do the trick neatly, and he could have the other half for a rainy day.

"Oh, are you trying out for the promotion, young man?" the elderly lady manning the cash register smiled indulgently at the teenager carrying only one bar of that chocolate everyone was buying to try to get their free trip.

"Yes, ma'am," the young boy smiled politely in a beautifully soft voice as if he didn't want to wake up a sleeping cat in between the two. He had such pretty green eyes too, the old lady thought, "I'll be very happy if I can win this prize for my family."

"Well then, young man, since you're so polite, why don't you take another bar of chocolate free of charge?" the old lady smiled widely at the teenager's surprised face. The boy seemed so sweet! Politer than the other young men who bought the chocolate in troves for the damn promotion too. She didn't know that the boy was surprised at how quickly the potion worked, and not at her generosity. Recomposing himself, Harry smiled widely.

"Thank you very much, ma'am!"

Paying for one bar and picking up another identical one, he waved her goodbye and opened the bar he bought to find nothing at all. Frowning in confusion and starting to feel a bit of dread that his plans weren't going to work, he stopped dead at the street and with trembling fingers opened the second bar of chocolate. Laughing at the gift certificate that fell in his hand assuring him as the winner of the promotion from the bar of chocolate he was given as courtesy he mentally thanked the old lady and began spinning in unrestricted joy. His plans were working! He would be free of the Dursley's for an entire _month_!

His spinning around was interrupted by a mass that suddenly grunted as Harry collided with it. He was falling on his ass and heard a soft moaning sound from in front of him, but he was too busy ensuring that he was holding unto the prize in his hands. He was brought out of his musings as he heard a soft _clang_ from his side and noticed a wand.

A wand that wasn't his. Staring in confusion at the wand, he was about to pick it up when he heard someone's breath hitch near him.

" _Accio wand!_ "

Harry looked up and saw a brunette teenager gripping the wand tightly and what he assumed were her parents looking between him and their daughter in horror, the father, in particular, looking quite grim.

"Lindsay! Did you have to use magic _in front of the No-Maj?_ " The mother hissed harshly in a rough American accent.

' _Wait. No-Maj? What the hell?'_

"I'm sorry, I panicked," the girl said quickly, retreating unto herself and looking cautiously at her father, "dad, can you uh... do the memory thing?"

"Honey, it's the third time I have to do this," the tall man said exasperated, looking around to see if anyone was watching the scene before grabbing a long and dark wand from his jacket, "if you can't keep a hold of your wand when we're outside, you're not taking it away from your holster."

Turning to Harry, who was still unmoving and shocked at the family in front of him, the man sighed and pointed the wand at his head, "sorry kid, I hate doing this, but I can't have you remembering this. _Oblivia-_ "

This made the teenager suddenly wake up to what was about to happen and he jumped, "WHOA, I'm a wizard, I'm a wizard, don't obliviate me!"

The man froze, but he didn't lower his wand, "right. Can you take out your wand and prove that?"

"I don't have my wand on me right now," Harry said nervously, wondering if his batch of Felix Felicis had gone bad already.

"What kind of wizard doesn't walk with their wand with them?" the man said disbelieving, as the two women continued to look at the exchange with nervous expressions.

"I can't do magic outside the school," Harry shrugged still apprehensive, "seems kind of pointless to carry my wand around."

"Wait," the man frowned, finally lowering his wand, but not pocketing it back yet, "what do you mean, you can't do magic outside the school?"

"The Ministry of Magic won't allow underage wizards to do magic outside magical school here in Britain."

"Well, that's just dumb," the man scoffed.

"Richard!" the woman chided him, hitting him softly in the arm as the family finally relaxed around him.

"What? It's true," the man defended, putting his arms up defensively and opening up his palms, "what if he had to defended himself against a No-Maj?"

"C'mon, it's not the 1700s anymore," the woman rolled her eyes at her husband, "we don't burn y'all at the stake anymore."

"I'm just saying: Salem."

"That was literally in the 1700s, Richard."

"Honestly, mum, No-Maj kinda scare me," the teenager hesitantly pointed out and immediately winced as her mother snapped her neck to look at her, jaw hanging in disbelief.

"Lindsay, I'm No-Maj and I'm your mother!"

"I know," the girl explained herself, hiding slightly behind her father, that was doing his best to look invisible, "but you're cool and all. Some people in my primary school didn't like Mexicans because they were brown, how do you think they would react if they saw me waving my wand around?"

The woman still looked scandalized but did nothing more than give her daughter a glare that promised further conversations, making the girl squirm and look at her shoes in embarrassment.

"Ummm" Harry interrupted awkwardly, making all three members look at him sheepishly as they had forgotten about the young British wizard, "I take it from the Mexicans comment that you're from the United States?" the three nodded, "So what are you doing in Surrey? Don't take this the wrong way, but I never thought I'd see another wizard in Little Whinging."

"Oh, that would be because of me," the woman smiled, "I work in a bank that requested my transfer to London for a summer assignment evaluating some companies that are based around here, and because London is too expensive, we rented a place around here. By the way, my name is Jessica Anderson, my husband is Richard and our daughter is Lindsay."

"Nice to me you, kid," Richard smiled in greetings, and their daughter waved happily from behind him, also smiling but sometimes looking quickly at her mother, as if expecting her to remember she almost breached the Statute of Secrecy _again_ , "do you live around here?"

"I do", Harry nodded, "call me Harry."

"Well, Harry, do you mind if we talked to your parents?" the man asked, "Jess here is cool living in No-Maj England, but Lindsay and I aren't used to it and are looking for a way to Diagon Alley, but the people in MACUSA didn't help at all."

The man must have noticed that Harry's polite smile seemed a lot more strained because his friendly face immediately turned confused. Harry made a note to try to extend his newly developed greater emotional control to the subject of his parents and coughed slightly to clear his throat.

"Sorry but I'm an orphan," the man immediately looked horrified at having brought up the subject, but Harry waved him off, "it's fine, you couldn't have known. I live with my relatives, the Dursley's, and they're not very receptive to magic, so I don't think you'd be welcomed there."

"Damn, kid, I'm sorry," the man said weakly, scratching his head in embarrassment. Harry smiled at him softly and was preparing to leave when the mother interrupted him.

"Wait, did you say the Dursley's? Any relation to the Grunnings Drills Corporation?"

"Uh, yes actually. My uncle Vernon is a director there. Why do you ask?"

"The Grunnings Corporation is on my list of companies whose loans I have to review," the woman's gaze narrowed in thought, "care to explain exactly why my husband wouldn't be welcomed at their home?"

"You said that they wouldn't welcome a wizard at their home, but you're a wizard. How do you live with them then?" the young girl asked, with a fierce gaze that was shockingly similar to her mother's.

Harry froze and paled slightly at the implication of what he had just revealed, and Richard, with his seemingly well-developed sense of paranoia against Muggles, suddenly tensed his jaw, an action that was immediately recognized for what it was by the two women. When Harry didn't make a move to deny it, the teenage girl seemed incensed and her mother was not a long way behind her.

"Harry," the woman said sweetly, "why don't we go to our rented home nearby and have a cup of coffee and you can tell me all about what I need to know for my review of your uncle's company?"

Harry nodded dumbly and moved behind the American family as they walked silently to their home. As they did, Harry was simply thinking ' _what the hell is in these Liquid Luck potions?!_ '


	9. A Serious Loss of Desire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note: All excerpts from the book mentioned in the first portion come from the excellent The Fundamentals of Ethics by Russ Shafer Landau. For those of you interested in Ethical philosophy, the book is a great and friendly introduction to the subject. To all actual specialists in the subject, please be reminded that I am writing this story from the prism of a teenager, and also indulge me - English is my third language and I am an economist with an interest in Ethics, not an Ethical philosopher.

**C** **hapter Nine - A Serious Loss of Desire**

* * *

As soon as Harry arrived at Privet Drive, he took off into his room and started to retrieve his precious combination of book and notebook from his trunk, before even thinking about unpacking anything else.

Harry laid down heavily in his uncomfortable and flimsy bed and once again cursed Dumbledore for forcing him to stay somewhere against his will.

Harry recognized, at some level, that he needed that light-hearted conversation with Ron and Hermione on the train. Ever since discovering Salazar's portrait, his mindset had changed constantly, and he'd be a fool to think that it wouldn't affect his friendships. Ron was more distant, and sometimes Harry's newfound dedication to study would make the redhead visibly irritated, much to Harry's disappointment.

Hermione was a much more curious case. She was acting errantly, but Harry had no idea what to do with the girl, particularly because there were sides to her new persona that he found he rather liked. On the other hand, some of the new developments surrounding her new attitude were a bit disturbing. Distancing herself from Ron made Hermione increasingly dependent on Harry, and while the Muggle-born witch was too headstrong to truly admit it, some of her behavior tinged with desperation, or fear. Maybe that talk in the Common Room wasn't sufficient to reassure her? Harry would deal with that in due time.

Harry never would have guessed that he'd be distracting himself with ethical philosophy, but the idea of tackling his summer homework soon after arriving at Privet Drive was unappealing. Opening his notebook and activating his quill, Harry quickly tested for Parseltongue and just to be sure waited for a few minutes to see if there were any Ministry owls with ominous letters arriving. Understanding the Trace or not, after the whole mess with Sirius, Harry was deeply distrustful of Fudge and the Ministry of Magic as a whole. After all, Dobby had somehow got him into trouble in his Second Year.

The book's current chapter was talking about something called _desire satisfaction_. Harry didn't understand what was the difference between that and the Hedonism he had read about the previous day but decided to plow on and see if any epiphany struck.

" _The desire satisfaction theory explains why there are many models of a good life, rather than just a single one. What makes my life good may be very different from what does the trick for you, because you and I may not want the same things. Our deepest desires determine what counts as life's improvements or failures. On this line of thinking, nothing-not health, love, knowledge, or virtue-is an essential ingredient in making everyone's life better off. Whether our lives have been improved depends entirely on whether our desires have been fulfilled. It seems possible to have a good life that consists in wholehearted devotion to religious causes, to philosophy, music, travel, social justice, Star Trek conventions, or a favorite sports team. A good life focused on none of these, or a combination of these, also seems possible_."

The theory seemed... perfectly reasonable. _Too easy_. Remembering one of the very first things that the book had said about ethics being difficult made Harry frown suspiciously at this theory. Simply relying on what everyone thought best for themselves might be a good model for an individual living their own life, but it was no way to build a society. Harry remembered vaguely talking with Salazar about something called _the invisible hand of the market_ and how it guided society towards self-improvement by people's self-interest.

Harry whined softly to himself about economists and their inability to decide on anything. Useful conjecture or not, _the invisible hand of the market_ seemed to contradict what Salazar had him told about Kuznets, and _Institutions_ had hinted that society was molded by these formal or informal institutions that could change eventually, and while the thing that guided this change was still beyond him, it wasn't hard for Harry to extrapolate that if according to Kuznets some people could hold progress back to protect their interests by blocking new technology, they could do the same to affect institutional change to their benefit.

Also, the phrase _deepest desires_ made Harry think about the Mirror of Erised, and memories of the artifact made him deeply uncomfortable now. After understanding that the Mirror would show him in his most desperate desires, regardless of their impossibility, it seemed little more than a tremendously insidious form of torture. A society of people led by their heart's content and nothing else would be constantly battling against the limits of possibility. We always desire what we can never have.

" _Have you ever had this experience? Some well-dressed folks come knocking at your door and end up telling you that you are wasting your life. You've strayed too far from their model of ideal living. It's easy to feel that they are being presumptuous. They have a one-size-fits-all framework of the good life, and you don't get any input in forming the plans. Desire theorists reject all such views. If the desire theory is right, then each of us has the final say on what makes our lives go well, because it's our own desires that determine how well we are faring. Further, no one gets to dictate which basic desires we should have. That is a personal matter. There is no universal standard for appropriate desires: to each his own._ "

Again, Harry couldn't argue on an individual level. To each his own sounded marvelous, personally speaking, but that was also not true, was it? Merlin knows that some people couldn't be relied on to know their inner desires, and the theory didn't account for people whose innermost selves had a malevolent thirst. Even not appealing to a _'some people are just rotten'_ theory, Harry figured that some people's desires would interfere with others. Dumbledore came to mind, particularly because the image of him being well-dressed and knocking door-to-door informing all who could hear of their inadequacies sounded just like the old man. If control were _his_ desire, that would happen with everyone else's?

The book's disagreement with that theory didn't follow Harry's thinking this time, but still stuck on an individual level, and was somewhat more formal and organized than Harry had come to expect from the until thus far very reader-friendly book. The first point (" _Getting What You Want May Not Be Necessary for Promoting Your Good_ ") didn't interest Harry and sounded rather obvious. People very rarely knew about themselves and never knew everything about the world around them to be truly objective about themselves and what they wished for. The second point was a bit more interesting.

" _Getting What You Want May Not Be Sufficient for Promoting Your Good_ " poked a great deal more holes in the desire satisfaction theory than its predecessor, and also answered Harry on the difference between this theory and Hedonism, even if the answer confused him more than anything else: " _the desire theory does not assign any intrinsic value to pleasure. If desire theorists are correct, then your life goes better just so long as more of your desires are satisfied-regardless of how much pleasure this yields. A more pleasant life is not necessarily better for those who live it_."

Nevertheless, Harry continued with his notes, gleefully noticing that his observations on Albus Dumbledore were increasing, and grimly noticing that none yet were made on Tom Riddle. Occasionally, he would doubt his and Salazar's conclusions on the man, but Harry forced himself to focus on the book and try to figure out Riddle later. Dumbledore was the more pressing matter.

His focus did break, however, when he read something that made his breath catch and gave him a hollow feeling in his chest.

" _According to the desire theory, in any of its versions, having a good life is essentially a matter of fulfilling your desires. Our desires, however, are often shaped by the way we have been raised. The expectations that we have been taught to have are especially important influences. And this creates a problem. Some parents have raised their children to believe themselves unworthy of love, or incapable of real accomplishment. Some societies continue to treat the women among them as second-class citizens (if citizens at all). Women in such societies are told from the earliest age that any political or professional hopes are unnatural and beyond their reach._

" _It's easy to take such messages to heart. If you are told from the cradle that your greatest ambition should be to serve your master, then you may well end up with no desire any stronger than that. If desire fulfillment is the measure of a good life, then such lives can be very good indeed. That doesn't seem right. For instance, it is tempting to think that a slave cannot live a very good life, regardless of whether her desires are fulfilled. And that is because she is unfree. But desire theorists reject the idea that there is anything intrinsically valuable about freedom. Nothing is important in its own right-not intellectual or artistic achievement, not freedom, not pleasure-unless one desires it. If it has been drilled into your head that it is foolish to seek freedom, or that education is unnecessary for "your kind", then a reasonable response may well be to abandon hope for any such things. Better to have goals you can achieve than to set yourself up for constant disappointment._ "

The more Harry read of these two paragraphs, the shallower his breath got until he noticed himself trembling heavily. Trying to control his breathing only made his pounding chest ache due to the lack of sufficient oxygen to sustain his frenzied state and before he knew it he was completely hyperventilating and the words had become fuzzy.

How close had he come to accepting his inferiority as a freak? If Hogwarts started at say, thirteen instead of eleven, would he have already gone too deep to save? Harry tried to convince himself that what he felt towards his childhood were fury and indignation, but some doubt still lingered on the back of his mind if he did or did not deserve the wonderful gift of magic. From the sentence about desire theorists not valuing freedom intrinsically, Harry knew he wasn't one of them, but the following phrases about _education for your kind_ struck way too close to home. He knew that Hagrid had saved him from a fast-approaching breaking point he would never recover from had he not showed up at all three years prior. Vaguely, Harry wondered about an orphan in war-torn London in the 40s and if he had also been rescued from a similar state of hopelessness only to be left wanting. The thought of Voldemort feeling hope sounded so out-of-character as to be utterly ridiculous, but somehow Harry couldn't ascribe the same diagnosis to Riddle.

Comparisons to the man that killed his parents made Harry's frenzy turn into an amorphous sense of dread that he couldn't quite fight down all the way. He knew that he had already read about _human welfare objectivists_ in this chapter, those that believed that a good life was to be gained by adhering to a universal set of values created apart from your desires and wishes (another thing with which he associated Dumbledore quickly, increasing the gap of information between him and Riddle), and his mind made the connection to those that believed that all lives were pre-ordained and would follow a path independent of our choices and wishes. Harry quickly noticed that the mere thought that his life would follow some sense of Fate seemed both far too plausible given his last three years at Hogwarts and terrifying beyond belief.

Would his fight for freedom turn him into Riddle? Is that what happened to Voldemort? A fight initially to change the world for the better turned violent whenever the man discarded morals from his thinking and delved completely into his wishes, disregarding others? Is there still some sense of sanity in Riddle's plans, or had he lost himself as Voldemort, never to surface again? If so, would Harry also lose himself in his ambitions, and metaphorically view the world as if permanently gazing into the Mirror of Erised?

On the other hand, would acceptance of his given situation and relinquishing his newfound desire to be his own man not be a betrayal of his own life? This question was made much more prominent and much darker as the book delved into the connection between following one's desire as a pathway to a better life and suicide. Harry was never suicidal, even in the worse days at the Dursley's, but the book had one tremendously unnerving sentence.

" _There are many different kinds of suicides._ "

Was accepting the hand he was dealt and giving hope as he was so close to doing three years ago for fear he might become what he hated _not_ a suicide of sorts? Not a literal one, but a spiritual one?

Harry didn't know, but when he finally calmed down enough to think properly, he did notice grimly that the quill had written his ramblings under his very own "HARRY POTTER" section.

The book didn't seem so fun now.

* * *

In the week between that incident and the conversation he was currently having with the Anderson's, Harry had forwarded his plans, and so thought himself beyond the doubts concerning himself and Riddle, but he had yet to pick up the book to read the next chapters. He always hesitated, and more than once stayed up late just staring emptily at the cover trying to gather himself, but in the last second, he would stop gazing inwards for answers and would distract himself with this or that essay.

He lamented his decision a bit at the moment, for nothing else because he couldn't get a grip on the American family. They were so expressive. Britain, Wizarding or Muggle, had something of a stiff upper lip approach to life, one of the few cultural commonalities between the two worlds. The way the Americans' expressions would shift and brighten and dim and twist and turn made Harry question if would ever be able to live in the United States without being ostracized for being cold or aloof. Oddly, in what he would have suspected was an effect of the Felix Felicis still coursing through his veins were it not for the moments he had held Zygmunde's book, he didn't much mind detailing his life at the Dursley's, though he kept his questions about how close he had come to a complete a permanent lockdown of his individuality to himself. Maybe it was because the family had told him they would be leaving to go back to the United States by the end of the summer.

At the moment, Richard and Lindsay were so livid with rage that Harry could see a flicker of magic surround them briefly before dissipating, but even so, their bodies were so tense it seemed they were about to snap like a string. Remembering Salazar's darkening expression whenever Harry mentioned his _obligation_ to stay at the Dursley's, Harry was thankful that someone else was also indignant. Richard in particular was muttering things about No-Majs that made Harry a bit uncomfortable and given the way his wife's eyes twitched whenever his comments were made a bit too loudly, Harry could see that there would be a discussion that would explode the second he was out of earshot.

"So, let me get this straight," Jessica said, rubbing her temples softly with her fingertips, "Albus Dumbledore coerced you into staying with your relatives for the summer again, despite your protests of their abuse, and basically threatened you by saying he would have people watch over the house so you couldn't just bolt. That it?"

"Well, I don't know if it was a threat exactly..."

"Please," Lindsay scoffed dismissively, "of course it was a threat."

Harry winced softly, but couldn't deny it.

"Honey, you have to do the financials to the kid's uncle's company, right?"

"Well, not exactly the financials of the company," the woman grimaced, before continuing in a distant tone, "but they have outstanding loans they are trying to renegotiate, and with the LIBOR has been increasing tremendously recently, so all the companies in this list are worried that this will reflect in their interest rates."

"Right," her husband said with an expression so vacant that it looked like he understood that phrasing even less than Harry did, "can't you hurt them there?"

"I'm not about to falsify a financial report, Richard," Jessica said with a heated gaze at her husband, "it could cost me my job."

"You don't have to falsify anything," Lindsay said defensively, "just, I don't know, confound them into accepting the report as bad? You can write the truth but make them pay anyway."

The reaction from the girl's parents couldn't be more different had they tried. The father was looking at his daughter with amazement at her ingenuity and the mother was completely aghast.

"Magic can't be your solution to everything, Lindsay Anderson!" the woman chided, and before her husband could intervene, she added, turning her attention to him, "Or have you forgotten the first time your father had to use the _Obliviate_ spell was _with my boss_?"

Whatever it was that happened, both daughter and father winced and recoiled almost simultaneously, the former finding the ground much more interesting. The No-Maj mother just sighed at their reactions and looked at her hands in thought.

"I haven't gotten to the Grunnings file yet, so I don't know the specifics about their account," she said slowly after some consideration, "the problem is that the macro conditions are pulling the company in different directions, and I don't know which would make the difference in the long run. Interest rates are increasing rapidly, so their capacity to pay loans would decrease because their loans are pegged to the LIBOR. On the other hand, the economy at large is going to increase at what, a 3 or 4% annual rate? I know construction has been going down in the country since the turn of the decade, but I think manufacturing is increasing to compensate for that decline, so maybe Grunnings would be that affected," the woman frowned before turning to Harry and giving him a wan smile, "sorry, Harry, I get a bit excited about my job and I forget that most people wouldn't understand me if I started talking about financial models. Basically without sitting down and looking at the file, I can't tell you if I can help you, but I sure as hell am going to try."

"Thank you ma'am, but you don't have to do this for me," Harry said, touched that the woman was willing to help him, but also recognizing that she didn't have the kind of flexibility necessary to hurt Vernon without risking her job.

"I'm not doing this for you, Harry," the woman said firmly.

"What do you mean?" Harry said, confused. Ever since he had bumped into this family confusion was his default settings. Not only were the cultural differences somewhat apparent, but it was hard to discern what was genuine kindness and what was the Felix Felicis.

"I'm doing this for me," Jessica smiled very kindly, before cocking her softly, "and I suppose I'm doing this for Lily too. I'm a mother, Harry. Even though you're too young to understand, there's nothing I wouldn't do for Lindsay, even if she is a bit of a brat," the mother looked at her daughter with such fondness that Harry's heart pained for just a second before controlling itself again, "Lily's sacrifice for you represents a lot of the good things that we can still hope for in the world even in the worst days, and I think it would be disrespectful to her memory if I didn't fight for her here."

"Plus," Richard added in a soft tone that so far was hidden behind his brashness, "given what you've told us about Petunia's behavior, I doubt that your mother would have wanted you to stay here at Surrey. The thing is, kid, first-gen magicals sometimes have problems relating to their No-Maj family, particularly with their siblings."

"Richard," his wife said warningly.

"What?" the man shrugged, but this time with a sad smile on his face, "I know my record with any No-Maj that isn't you isn't great, but that's just true. It can create a lot of tension in a family when just one sibling has magical powers and the other doesn't. I can't excuse Vernon's behavior beyond just No-Maj bigotry of what they don't understand, but I think your Aunt has always been jealous of your mother. Jealousy is fairly common between siblings, but when it's something you literally have no control over, like having magic or not, it can get really bad."

Harry considered this silently, with the American family looking at him expectantly. Harry wanted to hate his relatives unconditionally, to portray them in a cartoonishly evil light with no possibility of salvation. It was the easiest way for him to rationalize his horrible experiences. With Vernon, doing that was easier. He was much worse than Petunia ever was. Dudley was a massive spoiled little git, but he was what his parents raised. He couldn't forgive his cousin easily, but there was a rationalization.

His Aunt was odd, however. She didn't like talking about his mother, and while her distaste for magic was evident, it wasn't the paralyzing fear that Vernon had, it was different. Could it be just some distorted form of longing? To be special, to be like her younger sister? Harry frowned, irritated. His reason couldn't break through his anger so soon after dumping all of the abuse he had suffered through to the Anderson's. It sounded too much like forgiveness he wasn't ready to give. Maybe he would think about later when he calmed down.

Harry shrugged, and the family nodded respectfully. There was a brief compassionate silence only broken by Harry's idly stirring his coffee with a silver spoon. It was nice.

"You said that you don't think my mum would want me to stay here," Harry said after a while, "do you think I could use that to leave Privet Drive."

"Maybe," Richard nodded gently, "you mentioned they both went into hiding in the middle of the Blood War because they expected You-Know-Who to hunt them. I doubt that they would simply go into hiding without making a will in case they died. Do you know if they ever had one made?"

"No, but I have a suspicion," Harry shook his head sadly, "Gringotts mentioned that some documents my parents signed that were relevant to me that were sealed and couldn't be seen until my majority. They can't even tell me what the documents are."

The Anderson's glanced at one another, all of them thinking it sounded a lot like Dumbledore was involved somehow. Harry had the same suspicion.

Harry looked at the watch on the wall. He had been at the Anderson's for almost four hours. He only had eight hours left in his potion, but he had no idea what to do with them. The whole conversation about the Dursley's drained a lot of his enthusiasm for the day. At least he still had the promotion ticket in his pocket. Maybe if he walked to Privet Drive now a car would run over Vernon or something. Zygmunde explained how to brew and identify his premier potion perfectly well, but trying to understand the effects was about to give him a migraine.

Harry suddenly stood, as if lightning had just struck him. ' _Maybe if I go to Gringotts now, the potion will create some fluke that lets me see my parents' will! It can be that easy, right?'_ As a suddenly hopeful expression bloomed in his face, he realized that everyone was spooked and looking at him oddly. He smiled sheepishly and passed his hand nervously through his hair.

"Sorry about that. I just thought of something."

"Care to share?"

Harry hesitated, but just for a moment. Effect of Liquid Luck or not, he had chosen to share more with this random American family about his awful childhood that he had ever shared with anyone else. It made no sense to suddenly censure himself here.

"I... uh, I may have drunk a vial of Felix Felicis good for twelve hours like four hours ago," he said, feeling a proud sort of embarrassment by the surprised expression in Richard's face, "and I was thinking that maybe if I go to Gringotts now..."

Harry trailed off and Lindsay looked excited for him, but the solemn look never left Richard's face and it put a screeching halt to his daydreams of achieving freedom years ahead of schedule.

"I'm sorry, Harry," the teenage wizard realized that the man wasn't calling him ' _kid'_ and his stomach plummeted, "but I don't think this is the kind of issue that you would be able to solve in eight hours. Unsealing a document, in America at least, takes months and a special session of the MACUSA. I don't think it would be that different here in Britain."

Harry deflated greatly, but Richard wasn't done and started smirking lightly, "however, I do think it would be good for you to the bank. If I had taken Liquid Luck, I would camp inside the bank and wait for a billionaire to drop a massive money bag on my lap or something."

Everyone laughed a bit, even if Harry's laughter was a bit forced. Still, it wasn't a bad idea to go to Gringotts. He could review the wards around the property near Knockturn Alley and maybe make one or two lucky investments.

"So Harry," Lindsay teased, smiling wickedly suddenly, "are you saying that this whole time you were with us, it was under the influence of a magical Liquid Luck potion?"

"Uhhh... yeah? Sorry?" Harry said awkwardly, having no idea how they would react to this news.

"Sorry?" the girl asked before flipping her hair snootily, "It means we're so awesome that we're _Universe-approved._ "

Everyone laughed a bit more sincerely at that, and they made a bit of polite conversation before Harry said his goodbyes and made plans to write to them during the summer using Hedwig. After showing them how to summon the Knight Bus, Harry went to the Leaky Cauldron in silence. He probably should have gone to Privet Drive to ensure the Dursley's actually went to the trip, but a small part of him was hopeful that magically his will would be available and the trip would be completely unnecessary. Maybe he could go on the trip himself if everything worked out.

* * *

The walk to Gringotts was calm. No one was paying attention to him, which was fortunate. He noticed with some amusement that the Gringotts Authorised Portkey Zone, while much less spacious than the main wizarding entrance, was much more decorated and refined, and the following rooms, those that were made for Goblins and not for wizards, seemed to get progressively more beautiful as opposed to the imposing but ominous entrance hall. They were much more ornate and were a lot more indicative of Goblin culture than the rooms commonly used by wizards, that seemed to be built in such a way as to impose a dismissive, casual sort of power of wide spaces and tall columns.

' _Goblins truly despise wizards, don't they?'_

Harry walked steadily to a cashier who was working distractedly signing and stamping a pile of tiny notes. He knew better than to try to talk with Gornuk without an appointment or an urgent point of discussion, having glanced just how far up the hierarchy the old goblin truly was. He suspected Gornuk only dealt with wizards actively requesting services from their Restricted Listings.

"Harry Potter requests a meeting with Account Submanager Griphook," he said calmly, not faltering his gaze when the goblin slowly raised his eyes from his work to face the wizard disturbing him.

"Does Mr. Potter have an appointment with Account Submanager Griphook?"

"No."

"Can Mr. Potter identify himself?"

Harry retrieved the key to his basilisk vault. Noticing how the key had a small red stone attached to its hilt, a sign that this vault was customized and not a traditional family or individual vault, the goblin looked at the wizard more cautiously before writing a note and sending it flying beyond an open door behind him while never detaching his gaze.

"It seems to be in order. Mr. Potter will wait for his summons at the room to your left."

Harry nodded and followed the long and pointy finger to a small room with a comfortable chair that was out of the way of the main hall. He didn't have to wait long before Griphook arrived, but the goblin's expression was a lot less closed than Harry suspected. Harry had to resist the impulse to frown in confusion, complaining to himself that Felix Felicis ought to be renamed Felix Confundus or something. Ever since he bumped into the Anderson's his actions seemed to completely out of his control.

"Griphook, good afternoon."

"Good afternoon, Mr. Potter," the goblin said quickly, before grinning somewhat manically, "I must say I am impressed by the coordinated arrival."

"Coordinated arrival?" Harry said, keeping his expression to just a raising of an eyebrow. Wearing your emotions on your sleeve with the goblins was never a good idea.

"You truly do not know?" When Harry shook his head negatively, the goblin scowled, "I take back my statement, Mr. Potter. You are once more thoroughly unimpressive."

"Thank you," Harry said in sarcastic cheeriness, having recognized and dismissed the need to insult wizards buried within all goblins. Griphook's was just buried in an extraordinarily shallow grave, which in truth amused him a fair bit, "now would you explain what is going on?"

The goblin muttered something about wasting galleons and wanting to go back to brandishing his battle-ax under but gestured with his head for Harry to follow. Once again they walked in silence into the innermost rooms of the bank, this time reaching a conference room that was guarded once more by two scowling and intimidating goblin guards. This time, however, none of them made a motion to surrender his wand, so Harry just entered the room.

"Sirius?"

"Harry? What are you doing here?"

Sirius looked completely different from the pale and frail escapee from Askaban with tattered clothes and a manic disposition. He was sitting on a large mahogany table facing two goblins with a truly gigantic amount of paperwork between them and considering he had a notebook covered in notes (and, Harry noticed after his shock wore a bit, some very crude drawings of dogs), the three were working through the whole lot. His eyes still looked haunted, but the insane glittering black of the Shrieking Shack was replaced by a clear but dimmed grey color that softened greatly at the sight of his godson. The hair was no longer dirty and messy but ordained in somewhat gentle curls accompanied by a neatly trimmed goatee. It still looked a bit brittle, but nothing that would make him look homeless.

The clothes also helped, even if they were an odd sort of suit in off-green and yellow stripes, and looked a bit old and used. Harry realized they must be from before his parent's death in 1981. The voice was also raspy and rough, but with the lopsided grin showing an enlarged canine, the levity that must have been so present with the man in the past could have been glanced briefly.

Sirius recovered from the shock first and got up, not hugging Harry but putting both his hands on the boy's arms and bowing slightly to match their heights.

"Harry, I am very happy to see you," Sirius kept his tone soft and even with his rolling voice and tendency to loop around the syllables with the same ease Salazar presented, a comparison that would be funny if it probably didn't offend them both at the same time before his eyes dimmed and got cold, "did your aunt and uncle kick you out again like last year? Do you need me to go there and talk to them?"

' _Ah. That's what that coldness is._ ' Again feeling pleased that yet another adult seemed furious about the whole Dursley situation, Harry smiled thinly and shook his head.

"Not exactly, Sirius. I just kind of walked out the door and got here, to be honest."

Sirius must have known that Harry wasn't telling everything because he smirked knowingly, "Ah, and did you do that just on a whim?"

"Again, not exactly, Sirius," Harry couldn't help but grin. Talking to Sirius was so different than talking with everyone else. Professor Lupin came the closest to emulating him, and that made sense, given their close friendship, but Lupin was a bit more serious and his sense of mischief was much more selective. Sirius was an uncynical version of Salazar, if such a thing was even possible, mixed with a streak of joy for amusing himself the size of the Burrow, in the way he always answered quickly with quips and was very perceptive of his surroundings. Harry more or less confirmed his diagnosis of the man as a pure Hedonist but at that moment that thought seemed positively charming, "I may or may not have a plan involving Liquid Luck, a trip to Europe, and a heavily warded place nearby."

Sirius looked surprised for a second, but it was just a flicker before he threw his head back and gave a big barking laugh that couldn't be more Grim-like if he were actually Padfoot.

"That's why you're here then?" he asked, delighted, "To get your potion?"

Harry said nothing but picked up the half-full vial of the potion from his pocket and showed it to Sirius with a growing grin, making the man once again look at his godson in a new light.

"Where did you get that?"

For his part, Harry tried to put on his most innocent face and blinked slowly at his godfather, who once again gave a burst of long barking laughter.

"So you're skulking about Knockturn Alley already, you little rascal?" Sirius asked, with a proud smile on his face that made Harry briefly question his capacity as a guardian considering it was _Knockturn Alley_ before his mind quickly caught on to its own conclusions and yelled at itself ' _HE'S A HEDONIST AND IT'S FUNNY_ ', "Beat your father and me by a year!"

"Really?" Harry said eagerly, always happy to hear about his parents, particularly when the story was told energetically and erratically as in how Sirius acted and not stiffly and somberly as McGonagall did when she talked about James or Lily. If only briefly, Sirius' enthusiasm made Harry forget his family was dead, but everyone else's attitude in reminiscing was a constant and harrowing reminder of the fact.

Before Sirius could go off in his story, one of the goblins sneered mightly and threatened to begin a diatribe before the other one fixed him with a withering glare that silenced him. The second goblin did however still sneer at Sirius, but it was markedly less hostile.

"Mr. Black, this is very touching," the goblin said in a tone that left it tremendously clear that it was anything but, "but we do have much to do, and time is gold."

Sirius looked mutinously at the interrupting goblin for a second before coughing lightly and straightening himself. Harry frowned, not having expected that control from his godfather, but before he could ask anything, the man turned to him.

"Right. Harry, what do you know about the House of Black?"

Harry couldn't resist as his eyebrows rose in surprise. While it was not explicitly stated by him, everything about Sirius indicated that he despised his family and vice-versa.

"Very little, Sirius," Harry said weakly, "I know they didn't like you because you were a Gryffindor, I know that they have some affiliation with Dark wizards of the past and that's more or less it."

Harry took care to say _they_ instead of _you_ when talking to Sirius about the Black family to avoid any explosions and it seemed like it worked. Sirius nodded slowly and opened his mouth for a bit before closing it again and once again lowering himself to be level with Harry's gaze.

"I won't go into details now, Harry, but I thought that I was kicked out of the family after I ran away from home."

"You ran away?" Harry interrupted, making the older man look at him a bit more intensely. The teenager stammered an apology and motioned Sirius to continue.

"It turns out dear old mother couldn't kick me out, only Arcturus Black, who was my grandfather and Head of House, could. And for reasons I cannot fathom, he didn't. Maybe he didn't want the Black name to fade away, as my father, Orion, had passed away and my younger brother followed him into an early grave," Sirius shrugged with only one shoulder and Harry could see that his eyes darkened greatly at the mention of his unnamed younger brother, but decided against prodding the Animagus again, "naturally, that makes me the new Head of House."

"How can you be Head of House Black when you're still a wanted criminal?" Harry asked, seeing that Sirius had paused to think.

"Assigning the mantle of Head of House has always fallen to the Goblins at Gringotts because of these," Sirius picked up a small green box decorated with a crest of three crows and the words ' _Toujours Pur'_ in ornate silver letters. Inside was a silver and black ring with a single image of a moving crow pecking away mildly at an imaginary target, "This is the ring worn by Lord Black, the Head of House Black. All Lords are given this to signify their status. These rings are goblin-made and are enchanted in a special way that I won't get into now. Gringotts are neutral grounds and they have recognized that I have not had a trial and therefore cannot be held ineligible for their services under their treaties with the Ministry as a convicted criminal.

"Now, Harry, to be perfectly frank, I want nothing to do with this," he said, pointed at the ring, and then at the mountain of paperwork, both goblins were still working through, "I have always hated my family. However, if I renounce my rights as Lord Black, the title would go to Lucius Malfoy's spawn, and I would rather go back to Azkaban than allow Death Eater scum to have more influence in this world," Sirius smirked victoriously, "it's somewhat ironic, the Blacks denying anything to the Pureblood agenda, but I have always been the black sheep of the Blacks."

Harry didn't know how much gold the Black family had, but given that Sirius was now somehow a _Lord_ , and considering the veritable avalanche of paperwork currently displayed on the mahogany, he imagined it was quite a bit more than the already substantial amount in his basilisk vault. Harry scowled at the idea of Malfoy strutting about calling himself a Lord at school and was instantly grateful for Arcturus Black.

"I'm happy for you, Sirius," he said sincerely, glad his godfather was catching a break finally, "that means you can live comfortably while you recover and we try to clear out your name."

"I plan on portkeying to a private Black island as soon as I get away from here," he grinned viciously, "my family's house in London may be detestable, but that island is amazing."

"Just for the sake of your recovery, right?"

"Of course. The beach and summer have nothing to do with this," his godfather laughed before sobering, "this next bit, Harry, is very important that you just keep to yourself. Dumbledore can't know about this."

"I'm not exactly on good terms with the Headmaster, Sirius," Harry frowned. Sirius had shown a fair bit of deference to Dumbledore until recently, so something had happened.

"Alright, that makes it easier," the facility with which his godfather accepted Harry's reluctance to tell anything to the Headmaster rang the bells of _some shit has gone down_ loudly inside Harry's head, but the seriousness of the man's voice stopped any inquiries for now, "you see, as Head of House, I must have an Heir. If I don't have a son or daughter or don't appoint an Heir in my will, upon my death the Black family would still go to Lucius's son, and it this whole nonsense would be even more pointless than it already is.

"Azkaban has stolen nearly everything I had to give for twelve years, but I found out in my recovery that it also took something else," Sirius's voice was now dull and distant, and his eyes were wild and pained in remembrance of his imprisonment, "I can't have children, Harry. I am the last male born Black there will ever be. This whole paperwork on the table constitutes the rules of inheritance for House Black and Gringotts has been helping me dissect them to allow the money to go somewhere else other than Malfoy when I die."

"Where, Sirius?" Harry asked, already feeling like he knew the answer and once again marveling at just what went into Felix Felicis in the first place.

"I want you to be my Heir, Harry."


	10. The Intentions of Albus Dumbledore

**C** **hapter Ten - The Intentions of Albus Dumbledore**

* * *

Harry was shocked, but only briefly. He couldn't imagine himself as anything other than a Potter, but he reckoned that assuming the headship for the Black family wouldn't preclude his future headship of the Potter family. The remainder of the conversation was polite and unassuming, something he didn't expect out of Sirius. A lot of the details were still being figured out by Gringotts, and the older man didn't want to raise expectations before having to knock them down in some months because of legal technicalities.

No vaults were visited, no documents signed, no intentions declared. It was a spark of hope, but nothing more.

Harry also left the bank with a sense of wariness. He had no idea how much Felix Felicis had influenced this day. Would Sirius have retained the capacity to have children had Harry not drunk the potion? Harry doubted it, but it went beyond questioning that the potion had influenced people other than him, which wasn't what he was expecting. The potion's effects were positive, but Harry figured that today's happenings would be the kind of day Salazar would have appreciated greatly. Harry himself wasn't so sure.

The trip to the Dursley's was silent, outwardly, and inwardly. The luxury of quiet was absent for all of Harry's wizarding life, and it was still odd to him whenever he was allowed to contemplate on things by himself. He was something of a brooder, even if he was trying to break out of the bad habit.

Arriving at Privet Drive, Harry patted his pocket absently and felt the ticket still there. He opened the door and was immediately confronted by a purple-faced Vernon who stumbled out of the sofa with a furious expression.

"BOY," he bellowed, walking quickly to the door and pushing Harry inside to not call the attention of the neighbors to the conversation, "where the hell was you? You went for a walk hours ago!"

Harry thought it was odd that his uncle was asking his whereabouts, considering that the family had chosen to mostly ignore him. Occasionally a cruel glint appeared on the man's eyes before shimmering away slowly. It was almost as if he was fighting the instinct to be cruel to the boy against the fear of retribution from either Sirius or Harry himself.

"I was just walking around for a couple of hours," Harry shrugged nonchalantly, trying as best he could to look like he was hiding something, and deliberately leaning on his left side to highlight the bulge in his right pocket.

"As if a lazy little freak like you would walk outside for hours," his uncle huffed, looking suspiciously at Harry.

Harry had a hard time controlling his temper. He thought that he could more or less keep hold of his emotions around his relatives but being called lazy had stung much more than he anticipated. He took pride in the amount of work he could do when motivated and had spent most of the last month of Hogwarts to purge himself from the habit of lazying around. Vernon noticed that brief surge of anger because he stepped forward and narrowed his gaze at Harry.

"What are you hiding, boy?"

"N-nothing," Harry stammered weakly. He didn't have to fake his nervousness too much. Vernon was enormous and at this distance, he could knock him down before Harry could use his greater mobility to step out of range. Plus, he doubted even a _Serpensortia_ would help greatly. A garter snake wasn't exactly imposing. Nervously, Harry discreetly allowed for his ticket to fall from his pocket and moved slowly to pick it up after a beat of hesitation.

It was enough for Vernon to push him out of the way and into the doorframe. Harry hissed in pain, disappointed that he couldn't find a way to give the ticket prize to his uncle without suffering, particularly considering he was still under the influence of Liquid Luck, but thought better than to complain.

The large man bent down and picked up the paper, and glanced at Harry with a cruel smile. _Finally_ , something he could do against the freak without being afraid of the serial killer.

"Pet!" He shouted, cackling at Harry's dismayed expression. "Pack your bags! We're going to travel!"

* * *

Harry wouldn't call the next days idyllic, but the absence of his relatives in the house did bring an aspect of relaxation that he wasn't accustomed to. The Dursley's left him with little to no food, with the tacit hope that he would starve himself, but Harry had money and was not afraid to use it. The silence did bring a slightly lazy attitude from him, even if he did still finish his summer homework quickly. The ethics book had become something of a sore spot in his psyche, and he would still glance at it nervously without really picking it up.

At the moment, it was on a coffee table in the living room as Harry was draped across the sofa looking at a snake he had conjured. He was pleased that he had graduated from garter snakes and finally managed to conjure a common adder.

" _I'm cold._ "

The problem was that he could only conjure an infant adder and infant snakes were very needy.

" _I'll get a blanket for the both of us._ "

" _Are you not a wizard?_ " The snake asked, with a slightly whiny tone.

" _I can't do magic with a wand at home_ ", Harry said, picking up a blanket absently and laying it on top of him, taking care to form a bundle around his belly, where the adder was, " _and I can't do a warming charm wandlessly_."

" _Why did I have to be summoned by a hatchling?_ " The adder moaned but still hissed in pleasure by the increased warmth.

" _You say that like you weren't a hatchling_."

" _Of course I am a hatchling,_ " the snake looked at him as if he were an idiot, " _but I'll grow to be strong and fearsome_."

Harry didn't have the heart to tell him that adders weren't particularly fatal, and settled to simply lightly scratching the snake's head. He wouldn't grow to be particularly big, adders were relatively small, but he was beautiful, even as small as he was. His scales were light grey with white specs near his head, with small red eyes.

If nothing else, his interactions with Salazar at the Chamber had made him much more appreciative of all snakes. Their presence made him relaxed and being able to talk to anyone made his days more pleasurable. He responded to any owls posts he received from his friends promptly and had started a timid but constant correspondence with Neville. Harry needed more friends and allies for what he planned to bear fruit, and Neville might not be the most impressive wizard in the world, but he was an easy pick-up. Still, not being able to talk to anyone made him feel awfully lonely.

Furthermore, he knew he would have to remain a couple of days quietly at the Dursley's to convince Dumbledore's spotters that he left with his relatives. That meant no lights, no television, and no food delivery. The most he dared was to cook simple meals before retreating to his room and reading his schoolwork for Fourth Year. A couple more days and he would have his meeting with Flitwick, who was already making the rounds with the Muggle-borns and their parents instead of McGonagall. He had no idea how the half-goblin had convinced the stern Scott to lay off her meetings, but he wouldn't look at a gift hippogriff in the mouth.

Then he would be moving to his new place near Knockturn, and if everything worked out, make himself available to all the Muggle-born every day. He was still wondering if he should use some of his days to explore Muggle and Magical Europe, but he had no passport and no way to pay his way around without attracting the wrong kind of attention. Maybe the goblins would help him acquire a fake identity for his goblin glamour? He could ask Griphook later. The Restricted Listings were somewhere on his trunk, and he had little doubt that document acquisition was on the bank's services. Document _falsification_ , however, was another matter.

Harry sighed, and got up from the couch, ignoring the protests from his conjured mini-adder. He picked up his ethics book and idly read it for a while before activating his quill.

" _You talk the magic tongue well, Speaker_ ," the adder said with a tone of reverence Harry had grown used to when it comes to serpents.

" _How can one talk Parseltongue poorly?_ " Harry asked, curiously.

" _Our speech is very magic, Speaker. I never knew a Speaker before you, but some older serpents do, and they complain that many Speakers think that our magic tongue is just a way to talk to us ,_" the adder shook his head slowly before approaching Harry, " _but your speech is deep with magic._ "

" _Uh... thanks?_ " Harry asked uncertainly. Privately, his mind was racing. There was no way that Riddle didn't know the finer points of Parseltongue, and he knew that no adder lived to be more than fifty. Were there other Parselmouths that hid their gift successfully? He thought only he and Riddle had the gift, but it seemed like there were others. That bore a long conversation with Salazar come September.

" _You're welcome_ ," the adder hissed happily, before light cocking its head and staring intensely at the boy, " _I have no idea how you could speak our magic tongue so well without a snake familiar._ "

" _How do common adders know about the concept of familiars?_ " The adder had appeared instinctively aware of the existence of magic and had implied his desire for a warming charm. It was odd, thinking that snakes could be so well-informed, particularly what would amount to a toddler. Come to think of it, snakes of any age were well-spoken too. " _Also, why would a snake familiar help me with my Parseltongue?_ "

This time the little adder looked at him with a disbelieving expression on its face, blinking slowly a couple of times.

" _Are you not a wizard?_ "

" _Can't you just tell me instead of being dramatic?_ " Harry hissed irritably. Being shown up by an infant adder was humiliating.

The adder again blinked slowly before hissing softly, " _Our magic tongue is truly magical. Like everything else magical, you have to grow used to it._"

Harry moaned softly and banged his head against his book. _Of course_ , he would need an actual snake to advance faster on his Parseltongue. He could practically hear Salazar scoff at him for not thinking about it earlier. That's why it had taken him so long to conjure up anything other than a garter snake.

" _You didn't explain how you know so much about magic._ "

Giving Harry a shoulderless shrug, which was truly impressive, the adder added, " _When a serpent encounters a Speaker, we unlock our knowledge of magic. All snakes are magic creatures, to a point._ "

Harry nodded, amused by the concept that such a common animal amongst Muggles was magical, but it made sense given the magical characteristics of Parselmouth.

' _Guess I'll have to get a snake in Diagon Alley then._ ' He thought about the interactions between Hedwig and a new familiar and chuckled. His snowy owl could be quite jealous of his attention sometimes. He wondered about the different kinds of snake he could acquire and made a mental note to check if there were any species of snake that were exclusive to the magical world. He picked up an old and dusty encyclopedia from the cupboard, which had now become the storage of sorts for things the Dursley's didn't use but couldn't or didn't want to throw out, and sat down on the sofa again. Reading passively the section on snakes, he frowned and looked at the adder.

" _Is it true that there are no snakes in Ireland?_ "

" _We do not speak of that vile place, Speaker or not!_ " The adder responded angrily, which made Harry wonder if ancient Irish wizards had somehow committed snake genocide to warrant that violent reaction. He heard in the distance as the snake on his sofa continuously hissed profanities against the Irish. Glancing over the photos and reading the descriptions from the book didn't give him any ideas. He would have to go to a pet store to figure out. Harry shrugged, thinking about the Magical Menagerie. He could figure it out soon enough. He closed the encyclopedia and picked up his ethics book, stroking its cover lightly with his thumb.

Harry watched fondly as the adder dozed off in his chest, exhausted from his own Irish-induced agitation. He opened the book and started reading.

* * *

Salazar frowned as he opened his eyes. Sleep was an unusual experience as a portrait, and not nearly as pleasurable. Fortunately, he had things with which to occupy himself when awake, but boredom still affected him, even with Basil to talk to.

The Child was unexpected. He didn't expect a Speaker to find his Chamber after Riddle for some time and in the grand scheme of things fifty years went by rather quickly.

His book was glowing. The Child was writing in his book. It had taken a fair amount of time between sessions, particularly given the rapid rhythm with which he had begun. Salazar idly ordered snakes to bring him the book and to flip the pages to the HARRY POTTER section.

He could feel Basil looking curiously at him. Given that Basil was part of his consciousness, there was no judgment in the snake, only curiosity. Salazar was never one to judge, being by far the most morally ambiguous of the Founders. Despite understanding that _The Prince_ was a very misinterpreted text, he had a positive image of the somewhat satirical and cynical Prince that Machiavelli had imagined in the Medici family.

His musings on Machiavelli always made him wonder if he should have given the Child a book on philosophy instead of one on morality and ethics, but he shook his head. The Child was smart, but not overly so, and he was still developing the sense of abstraction necessary to understanding political philosophy. Not to mention that he had very little appreciation for Muggle history, and that assured that the Child would take the exact wrong conclusion from texts like _The Prince_.

" _Why have you charmed the book you gave the other Speaker to appear on this one?_ " Basil asked.

Salazar shrugged, " _It is always good to have leverage on others._ "

" _Why would you need leverage on the other Speaker, Master?_ " Basil questioned, moving himself to stand on the table near the book, " _He is already very devoted to you._"

" _True_ ," the portrait conceded, " _but when he is ready, I will require things from him that he might not want to do. This is my safety net._"

" _How can you be so sure he will not simply agree to help you?_ "

" _Because it involves my Hogwarts House,_ " Salazar said softly but with a harsh look full of anger and regret, " _and the Child would not involve himself in their politics without good reason_."

" _Is your desire not good enough for the other Speaker to act? "_

 _"_ It might be," the old wizard said, shrugging softly, " _but I have played it safe my entire life, and will not break out of this habit now. Blackmail is the most effective means of persuasion for those naturally disinclined to help you._ "

The snake nodded calmly. ' _Having a partner with the same moral code as you is a truly wondrous thing_ ', Salazar thought, ' _if only Godric wasn't so naive_. _'_

" _Do you not think that the other Speaker will be angry if he found out?_ "

Salazar gave his companion a light glare, but hissed evenly, " _I have taught him that everyone is always manipulating everyone else. If he thinks he is immune to that from me, then he is a fool, and I do not suffer fools lightly._"

Basil had nothing more to say and went hunting for his meal.

Salazar glanced as new words were written in the book. ' _He skipped the section on religion. How curious. I always thought that Albus was something of a St. Aquinas, but I suppose this isn't the right book to give the Child that interpretation_ '.

Slytherin sighed softly before starting. He did not want to actually blackmail the Child, but it was for the best if it were necessary. The portrait frowned, thinking that he sounded an awful lot like Dumbledore at that moment. He thought for a second before shaking his head. Dumbledore did things for the outward veneer of his morality. Salazar did this for himself. He thought Albus was the far worse person between the two of them. Salazar was at least aware of his selfishness and sincerely believed that other people acting selfishly together were more effective than the most altruistic group of idealists would ever achieve. Dumbledore's greatest crime was his continuous attempts at subjugating others he thought morally or magically wanting. Dumbledore really was more of a cultist than a wizard in Salazar's eyes. As for Salazar... they may think he was evil, but his wizardry prowess will never be questioned, even if he had stepped into the outer layers of senility as Dumbledore seemed to be doing recently. If everything else fails, he would always have Hogwarts, and Albus would at most just be a prolonged guest.

Softly clearing his throat, Salazar activated his quill and started to dictate Harry's thoughts, this time in English, to his notebook.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore was sitting in his office, quietly examining the grades of all the students in front of him. It was something of a ritual at the end of every year, to look at the grades from all the students he could, to understand the direction the education of Hogwarts was heading, and if he had to have conversations with this or that teacher about a certain student.

In the last three years, he saved young Harry Potter as the last student to have his grades examined. The first two years of his education were adequate, but not exceptional, which worked brilliantly for Albus. Barely above average in grades, but with flashes of enormous magical potential. The Headmaster disliked being so cold in his analysis of a young man he had grown fond of, but it was necessary.

It was for the Greater Good.

Dumbledore grimaced slightly. He had long thought that 'for the Greater Good' were the four most dangerous words in the English dictionary, in large part because you couldn't exactly disagree.

If you had to sacrifice a child to save an entire society, would you not do it? Would it not be irresponsible to do so, as a leader? To cling to morality if results need to be achieved?

Still, he detested having to do go to such lengths. He would always watch Harry carefully considering his family's history and his survival of the Killing Curse. However, the Prophecy loomed large over the boy's life and forced his hand.

Albus sighed and stroked his beard in thought. Truly, Harry's life was not easy. It was deeply unfair, putting so much on the shoulders of a child who was abused most of his childhood, but what to do? He couldn't live with Sirius. Not only was the man mentally unstable after more than a decade as an innocent in Askaban, but he was a debaucher. He wanted nothing more than to lavish young Harry and treat him like a prince, if for no other reason to see the last vestiges of his life before Askaban salvaged and well-kept to create a new and improved James Potter. But Harry _couldn't_ be arrogant and selfish. In truth, and it pained him to admit so, Harry couldn't be _happy_.

Happy people don't sacrifice themselves.

Not for the first time, Dumbledore wished he wasn't Supreme Mugwump, Chief Warlock, and Headmaster. He longed for his childhood with Arianna and for the wonders of discovering an intellectual equal in Gellert before the other man had turned his incredible mind for Dark ways.

But he did have a responsibility, as the most powerful wizard on the planet. Albus Dumbledore was many things, but lazy and uncommitted he was not. He wished he could let go of his hold in power and return to a quiet life learning Alchemy and teaching Transfiguration, but it would be terribly remiss. This was the same society that had created both Grindelwald and Voldemort out of Gellert and Tom in less than half a century. The same society that fostered and protected families like Malfoy and Nott, and transformed bright youths like Antonin and Bellatrix into criminals like Doholov and Lestrange.

A society that began an indoctrination of power and prejudice at eleven, and never held back. Humans were insufficiently moralistic to truly behold the entire power of Magic. What would the world be if all arcane Magic was as easy to get a hold of as a _Standard Book of Spells_ textbook? Dumbledore had tried for decades as a professor to simply teach a brand of Magic that showed its constructive potential, but he had to turn his gift into an arsenal for destruction in two separate wars. If _he_ had to compromise on the destructive potential of Magic, what would _others_ do?

Dumbledore was no fool. He knew that censuring Dark Magic in Britain was not sufficient to stop it from being learned. But it was still progress that not every student got out of Hogwarts knowing how to cast a Bone-Breaker with the necessary force using the correct stance. Wizards were overly reliant on the innate and uncontrollable powers of Magic, but Dark Wizards in particularly allowed themselves to be driven away from the correct path in the search for more power.

The Headmaster was trying to focus on the letter with Harry's grades in front of him, but his mind kept wandering. He lamented having to give the Cloak of True Invisibility back to the boy, but he had no choice. While the Peverell line flowed true, the last Hallow would be forever out of his grasp. The two other brothers had lost the allegiance of their Hallows violently, allowing others to master them, but the Cloak was used wisely. It still worked for anyone else, but it was nothing compared to the potential the artifact held for the young wizard.

It was another benefit that would come from the boy's premature death, the elderly wizard told himself, trying to ignore the pang of sadness that this cold rationalization was bringing. The last Hallow could be his, and then it was just a matter of finding the Ressurection Stone.

As the Peverell's said: _the last enemy to be destroyed is death._ Very few things managed to avoid manipulation by the raw power of Magic, but death was one of them. Nothing truly avoided death. Not really, and not without paying too heavy a price. Riddle's Horcruxes were objectively an impressive feat of magic, but they were not a failproof escape. And to split his soul that way... Albus shuddered. That was a crime against nature the likes of which revolted the mild-tempered man.

The appeal of being Master of Death was not on the presumed immortality it could bring. Truth be told, Dumbledore suspected that to truly master Death, one would have to accept their mortality. True Immortality was impossible, he surmised. Plus, he had people waiting on the other side. He hadn't feared his death since Arianna died. The appeal of being Master of Death was on the superiority of Death over Magic. If he were Master of Death, he could purge the world of all foul and unsafe brands of Magic. Then he could have his days of teaching Transfiguration quietly back without concerning himself with the misguided morals and actions of those like Malfoy. Rotten minds like his were not a threat without their weapons of hate and destruction. If Man could not be tamed, so Magic will be.

Albus looked at the Elder Wand in his hand and reassured himself. It was for the Greater Good. He would forever be known as the Purifier. That was a much more worthy form of immortality than to continue to breathe.

His distraction was noticed by Fawkes, that thrilled happily and managed to overcome Albus's grim foreboding on Harry Potter. The Headmaster chuckled softly.

"Thank you, old friend. I needed that."

The bird preened and thrilled once more, but shorter this time. It still amazed Dumbledore that after so many decades, his faithful companion still had the power to uplift him from the darkest pits of his mind.

Albus looked at the report card with a great sense of trepidation. Harry's improvement was obvious given his latest meetings with the teachers, and he could remember one other boy who had suddenly shown a tremendous amount of potential after a relatively timid first year showing. Glancing over the usual text about wishing the students a good year and so on, the Headmaster looked at the boy's marks.

 **Astronomy:** E

 **Care of Magical Creatures** : O-

 **Charms:** O+

 **Defense Against the Dark Arts:** O+

 **Divination:** A

 **Herbology:** A+

 **History of Magic:** O-

 **Potions:** E

 **Transfiguration:** O+

Harry's grades had improved a _lot_ of out nowhere this year. He froze in fear, thinking that maybe the boy was losing the battle with the Horcrux. Riddle was a brilliant student, and this sudden spike in grades was odd. It didn't reach the heights of magnificence that Tom had achieved, nor did it beat young Miss Granger's marks, but he had graded with distinction in all his wanded subjects. Not good enough to be the best student in the year, but he was probably the strongest wizard his age at the school.

He reviewed his impressions of the young man by focusing on his Occlumency. By the end of his trance, he was still agitated, but not truly fearful. The boy had begun to show potential, according to the weakly meetings with the staff, shortly after the confrontation with Pettigrew in the Shrieking Shack. He was also becoming closer to Miss Granger, which explained his newfound dedication twice over. Young Ronald still talked to both of them often, and Albus couldn't imagine that Tom, even in the heights of his manipulative powers, could stand to live in the same room as the youngest Weasley male without snapping.

No, Harry was still safe from Riddle. Still, maybe he should keep a closer eye on the boy come September.

Dumbledore was about to send the letter on its way when he did a double-take.

_**History of Magic:** _ _O-_

How on Merlin had Harry Potter achieved such a high grade in Binns' class? Harry was Muggle-raised and was being lectured by the worst teacher at the school, how could he possibly be learning about the Magical World? Was someone teaching him? Maybe Miss Granger got through to him?

A chilling thought went through the Headmaster's spine at the thought that Harry might have found an older mentor not amongst the staff. The boy could easily be misled, or worse, be cajoled into Darker paths. He was impressionable, naive, and young. He stiffened and once again checked through his Occlumency to whichever occasions he had managed to sneak some passive Legilimency on the boy, but none of those occasions gave him any reason for suspicion.

Still, this was concerning. He would stay put, so as not to seem suspicious, but would be more careful the following year. In the end, it didn't matter immediately. The Headmaster couldn't give Harry his full attention at the moment, at least not directly. He did have a certain dog to neuter.


	11. Lectures (Part I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On Ethics and Economics: I have greatly appreciated the discussions and comments on the reviews, and encourage you all to study the subjects detailed here. This particular chapter uses a story I have read in Niall Ferguson's work The Ascent of Money, but that is quite famous in financial circles. Please be reminded, at all times, that the Ethical views depicted here are the views of the characters and not my own, and that what they say may not necessarily a) be true, b) be what they actually believe, or c) be applicable. I am not a huge fan of Greek philosophy, but I suggest always operating under Socrates' famous words: I know that I know nothing. There is actually a reason behind the Ethical quandary Harry will be facing, as will be revealed at some point.

**Chapter Eleven - Lectures (Part I)**

* * *

Harry had dismissed the opportunity to accompany Flitwick to Gringotts at the last second. After his introduction to the Restricted Listings, he suspected there was very little he could have learned from the tour the half-goblin would be giving to the future First-Years and the prospect of enduring Griphook's attitude for a single second more than required was simply unacceptable. Flitwick was already aware that Harry was making a political play, so trying to play the illusion that he was interested in the inner working of Gringotts was pointless.

Well, to be fair, he _was_ interested in how the Goblin bank worked, but whichever secrets he wished to learn were being kept by high-level employees like Gornuk, which completely eviscerated any chance of Harry learning anything profound about the bank in the short or long term. It was an unfortunate but necessary admission that he would never befriend or ally himself with the Goblins, who had too much stock into keeping themselves neutral. Harry did not understand the concept of banking particularly well but his conversations with Salazar had indicated that the financial market's approach to warfare and uncertainty were very different than those of normal people.

Salazar had once told him a story that fit entirely too well with what he saw from Gringotts.

* * *

"Child, do you know the concept of a financial bond?" Salazar said absently as he perused through a Muggle book boringly. He did not look at Harry, but it was clear that the man expected an answer and had not asked a rhetorical question from the silence that reigned over the room in the ensuing seconds.

"Ergh, no, I don't," Harry said, silently putting his quill by the side of his unfinished Potions essay. He knew that whenever the portrait asked one of these random questions, he would enter either a ranting tirade or a spectacularly specific tangent that seemed incredibly wise but also beyond the practical application of a soon-to-be fourteen-year-old. Harry held himself from asking the reason behind the odd question, knowing he would only get a condescending look as a response at best, and a five-minute diatribe about his questioning of people who had been teachers for a thousand years at worst. Salazar was many things, but tolerant of ignorance he was not.

"Hmm," the portrait said indifferently, leaning forwards to analyze the book he was reading closely before hissing an order for its page to be preserved for further reading. There was silence again in the room, but Harry did not pick up back his quill, knowing from Salazar's distant gaze that he would soon start his lecture. "Financial bonds are quite important in Muggle history. Financial flexibility and risk dissolution are some of the reasons why Muggles have had an Industrial Revolution and we have not, despite our magical prowess. We are simply too dependent on Gringotts, and even before they achieved a legal monopoly on banking, wizards were not institutionally prepared to have a wide base in which to dilute risk to allow for high-risk investments. You could give wizardkind a thousand years, but I do not believe that we will ever go to the Moon as Muggles have. Wizards are more risk-averse and conservative, either as a result or cause of the inherent stagnation of our current society.

"At any rate, our way of dealing with money is quite primitive compared to the workings of banking in the Muggle world, and they are much better for it. However, this development, as any revolution ought to do, had an unforeseen consequence in which global wars could now be financed successfully. Britain, in particular, was quite good at this game of practicing war everywhere at once against everyone else at the same time without bankrupting itself. The cost of this eagerness was a truly monumental amount of debt accumulating itself by the 18th Century. If I am not mistaken, the Exchequer is still paying down debts accrued by the Crown in wars against the Spanish in the period, which is simply amazing. I divert, however.

"There were these specific bonds issued by the British named _consols_ , which are debt issues with no maturity date. They accrue value forever, but as a consequence, you will never receive your principal investment unless you sell your bond in the open market. These bonds were very important in financing the Wars against Revolutionary France, and later the Napoleonic Wars. The Bank of England kept issuing bonds at 3% annum with such frequency that a bond that paid £100 could be bought for £96 in 1792, but only at £60 by 1815. A rather clever man by the name of Nathan Rothschild had used the uncertainty following the Battle of Waterloo to buy a truly astounding amount of consols and kept buying them for the following year, only to sell them at almost a 40% premium in one big firesale by 1817. Today, this little operation of his would have made him more than half a billion pounds. Supposedly, the famous Austrian Minister Metternich described the man as the Napoleon of finance."

There was a very long silence again in the Chamber.

"Do you know why I have told you this story?"

"Because you're bored and have no one else to torment?"

"That goes with saying," the portrait said agreeably, "I said this because it shows a side of war that wizards often underestimate. Magicals, from what I have gathered, place too much stock on sheer magical power to resolve wars, but they seem to forget the most basic lesson of peace or wartime. Do you know what it is?"

"Well, I would say it was the war is a matter of life and death, but it doesn't fit the thematic of the conversation, so I'm guessing that is not it."

"So you are incorporating _The Art of War_ into your thinking," Salazar mused, "excellent news. A most useful book, but I am talking about a more general approach to war than is described in that book. A German military theorist called von Clausewitz famously described war as politics continued by other means. And as in politics, there is a singular rule of war in its grandest scale that precedes the tactical and strategic considerations you can make based on _The Art of War_. If nothing else, remember this, Harry. Cash is king."

* * *

Harry chuckled slightly at the memory. The conversations he had with Salazar had this odd habit of popping up as thematically relevant from time to time. Greengrass startled at the sound, raising her gaze from the pile of notes in front of her. Harry apologized with an airy wave of his hand and she went back to her notes.

The memory of his mentor made him consider reading the Ethics book in his trunk, but he dismissed it. He had no problems using his Parseltongue to make notes on his observations, but he had no intention of revealing they were about Ethics and his impressions on other people. He had fed Greengrass a nonsense story about the book being practice to cast Parselmagic spells and she believed him, not being able to read the squiggly lines anyway.

Therefore, he had very little to do. He refused to fret over the incoming visits from the Muggle-raised and had felt the indignant gaze from a manic Hermione at his blasé attitude an hour prior.

"Harry, how can you be so calm right now? Are you not worried that something will go wrong?" She asked, carrying around books and double-checking to see if the cauldrons had been somehow corrupted beyond usage in the less than a day since she had last checked them.

"I am 100% certain that something will go wrong no matter what we do," Harry said lightly with a tiny smile at seeing her expression panic for a second before settling into her traditional glare.

"I'm sure if you help we can cover all the bases, Harry," she said helpfully, coaxing him into at least aiding her if nothing else.

Harry pretended to think for a few seconds, making a show of tapping his finger against his chin, before drawling out languidly, "Naaaah."

Hermione huffed and rolled her eyes at the demonstration, but she was smiling softly and calling him a prat in the gentlest of ways, so he didn't resist and ended up helping her at least with the more menial tasks. As he had suspected, nothing was wrong and everything was perfectly put in place but she remained fiercely vigilant, in a manner that would be endearing if it were not giving him flashbacks to her near-meltdown at the end of the last term.

While also being nervous, Greengrass's way of showing it was such a contrast to Hermione's that they didn't even look like they were the same species. The whole morning was a celebration of how almost comically diametrically opposite the two girls were, but they had done the entire thing under the auspices of a mutually agreed truce he had not been privy to.

Hermione freaked out and panicked and only calmed down after checking whether or not every quill was sharpened and every Potions ingredient was sealed off correctly. Daphne only demonstrated her nervousness in her razor wire tense posture, which was too forced to acquiesce with the cool sense of propriety that she exuded effortlessly, and in her nervous tick of retrieving a small shrunken box from her pocket, analyzing it almost lovingly before sighing and restoring it to its original position.

The difference between the two witches did not stop there. Hermione was dressed in a clear blue sundress with a thin leather belt around her waist and clear brown sandals, something that would not be looked twice at in Muggle London. She arrived using a strapped leather book pouch that hung on her left shoulder across her body instead of a bottomless bag. Harry noted how incredibly different she looked not wearing baggy Hogwarts robes and had to blink back to recognize the girl as she entered, which seemed to please Hermione enormously.

Daphne arrived with a black overcoat covering whichever clothes she wore underneath, curiously also with a thin belt wrapped around her waist. There were two pockets on the coat, both above her hips and adorned in silver detailing that was also present around her neck. A very thin fur lining was present on her cuffs and in her collar, and a small delicate green earring hung on her ears. To be fair, her clothes also would not call too much attention to herself in the Muggle world, but her posture absolutely would. She looked aristocratic, with a firm gaze mounted on top of a raised chin in a manner so well trained as to look natural. Few people managed to style themselves in such a way as to scream ' _I am better than you_ ' without looking like pompous asses, but Greengrass managed to make the message conspicuous enough that it passed through unnoticed.

For the moment, her nervousness was breaking through her posturing, and Harry had noticed from his conversations with her the previous day that the show of appearing overly relaxed was just that, a show, but he doubted Hermione would be able to tell the Slytherin was apprehensive in the slightest.

They both had brought a collection of notes they had shrunken down - Harry decided not to ask how Hermione managed to do that - and immediately started checking everything. Harry had been there already, reading a few books on Charms and DADA to refresh his understanding, but he felt confident.

He yawned and was about to cast a _Tempus_ to check the time when the door opened and a burst of animated conversation filtered through the room.

He looked at Daphne, who resolutely picked up her notes and shrunk them back in her pocket before turning around and assuming a relaxed and calm posture. Hermione whimpered that she was not ready and moved to hide behind Harry while still checking her notes one last time.

Harry hid a smirk at their reactions and faced the incoming crowd, only to be surprised as the parents from the ten Muggle-raised all accompanied them. They all greeted the waiting teenagers politely before turning to their children and talking animatedly about what they had witnessed on Diagon Alley until then.

Professor Flitwick walked to their table and shook hands with Harry before greeting both Hermione and Daphne, who looked horrified. Harry frowned and made a note to ask what was wrong with her for her sudden attitude shift.

"Mr. Potter, greetings. Just so you all are aware, I have already mentioned all the Houses in Hogwarts and what they represent, so you do not have to worry about talking about the school. Focus on informing them on Magic itself and Magical Britain in general," Harry nodded and kept staring at the teacher, who seemed like he wanted to continue, "apparently the inheritance tests yielded one positive result."

"What?" Greengrass asked, shocked out of her stupor. "Which family was reactivated? And how did that happen from a group of ten Muggle-born?"

"The family was squibbed out soon after Grindelwald eliminated every single wizard and witch in it, but the child grandfather supposedly knew about magic. The father was sent to bring him here so they could talk about that fact, but the family is not well-known," Flitwick mused animatedly, an odd thing to do considering the morbidity of the discussion, "I can only imagine how many Muggle-born are actually from old extinct magical families."

"I have been asked a couple of times if I was descendent from Hector Dagworth-Granger," Hermione added shyly, "is being from an extinct family a big deal?"

"It is," Greengrass confirmed with a sharp nod, "a lot of old and powerful families with ties to the Wizengamot were extinct in the past two centuries, but even if your family isn't that powerful, just reactivating a vault and continuing an old magical line is something to be celebrated considering how small our community is compared to the Muggle world."

Harry thought that Hermione was about to enter a diatribe on the pre-modern affixation that wizard held to the concept of a _powerful_ _family line_ being an outdated disgrace, but she merely nodded thoughtfully. She was going to take that inheritance test as soon as she could.

"Still, nine true Muggle-born in a year attending Hogwarts is quite a few," Flitwick added, "it is a good year to choose to do this experiment."

Harry looked over the group. None of that looked particularly distinct, except for one particular boy that was looking at him in awe and looked a lot like Colin Creevey. Harry looked inquisitively at Flitwick, who smirked back at him.

"Noticed that too? Yes, that is Mr. Creevey's younger brother. Exceptionally rare for two wizards to be born from the marriage of two true Muggles."

Harry nodded, thinking about his Aunt Petunia and his mother Lily, wondering how his life would be different if they both would have been witches.

"Shall we get started?" Harry asked softly to both witches. Hermione righted herself and seemed determined, but Daphne tried to suppress a hitched breath and failed. Harry turned to face her discreetly and asked what was wrong.

"I deal very poorly with adults," she admitted embarrassedly but still retaining a look of barely concealed panic.

"How come?" Harry asked gently. "You seem to be very intelligent, and you're a great conversationalist."

"You've known me for a day, Potter."

"Still doesn't make it untrue, Greengrass."

She acquiesced with a nondescript sound and a vague turning of her head but still hadn't shaken off whatever was affecting her. Harry kept staring at her, and she conceded. "It's something my father has said about adults that makes me nervous about trying to convince them of anything."

"I haven't seen you hesitate around the Hogwarts Professor at school or Flitwick here," he argued.

"They don't count," she replied easily, "they have a very specific set of rules to obey and a context that is easy to follow."

Harry conceded gently, but continued, "and whatever your father told you applies to this situation?"

"What do you mean, Potter?"

"You are about to talk to the parents of ten Muggle-born children about Magic and Magical Britain, both subjects you are much more qualified to discuss than them. Is this a place where whatever advice your father gave you is useful?"

Daphne considered the point. Cygnus said to be extra careful not to think she was outmaneuvering adults in the Wizengamot or rich families in Wizarding Britain when she was too young to even begin to do so, not that she had to be wary about every single adult she talked to.

"You're right," she said with a resolute nod, trying to dismiss her lingering discomfort and playing with the notes in her pockets.

"Harry, let's go," Hermione interrupted them both, "they're staring at us now."

Daphne frowned at not being addressed, but acquiesced and ended her conversation with the boy.

The three turned and walked to the front of the room where everyone was waiting for them, stopping their conversations at once.

"Good morning," Harry smiled widely, letting his eyes wander about the group, but taking care to look at every single parent briefly before continuing, "my name is Harry Potter, and these are Hermione Granger and Daphne Greengrass. The three of us will be talking to you and teaching you some things before you embark on the Hogwarts Express in September."

"It's very important to us that you remember that you can count on us at any time during the year," Hermione said firmly. No doubt she was considering this her pre-prefect exercises. "Harry and I will be available to you during the entire year for academic questions or just personal help."

"What about Miss Greengrass?" an adult asked. Harry and Daphne looked at one another silently agreeing to a story before turning to the man in question.

"There is a good reason why Daphne will not be available to you during the entire year, and we will be addressing that issue in a bit," Harry said whilst looking at the man, before turning to the crowd in general, "before we continue, there is a more comfortable room we can talk in next door."

The group followed Harry to a side room that was built like a break room. It was the place he was proudest of in the entire building, and it was also the place the Goblins had required the highest payment to reform and decorate to his specifications.

It looked like an improved version of the Gryffindor common room. There was a big fireplace in one of the corners, with three big stuffed armchairs with their backs turned to the roaring fire, an addition that Greengrass had insisted on the previous day - _"it will make whatever we say that much more imposing"_ \- on which the three sat gently. In front of them, the parents and children spread themselves on either the big red puffs or on one of the smaller armchairs put around circular wooden tables. Moving paintings greeted the newcomers, curtsying or waving happily, to the astoundment of the parents, all of whom were looking around the room in shock. A couple of children chose to sit in the carpets right in front of the three older students, and Professor Flitwick went around a makeshift counter and started to float cold bottles of butterbeer to everyone.

Harry smiled softly, admiring his work and silently thanking Salazar again for the idea of making him sell the basilisk. He looked speculatively at Greengrass, who has a smug look on her face after managing to convince him that heavily decorating the room and being theatrical about this first meeting would earn them points with the parents, who looked at the three with newfound admiration. No doubt they were expecting a dingy little classroom and found themselves in a truly magic-rich environment greeting them warmly. Harry noted amusedly that many children were playing with the bluebell flames Hermione had conjured with Flitwick's aid to light up the room and smiled proudly at his best friend, who beamed back at him.

"There is a classroom where we will be teaching you proper magic, but this room will always be open to you for individual studying or just relaxing. You will be able to find me personally around here for most of the summer if you want separate tutoring or just help, and both Hermione and Daphne will also be here often."

All the children in the room nodded happily, still amazed by what they were seeing. The younger Creevey brother, in particular, was looking at the photographs in great speculation, which made Harry smile and think about Colin.

"This will be the first time that Muggle-born will be tutored before starting their year in Hogwarts, but we are looking forward to teaching you what we can during the summer," Daphne said politely, still not looking in the direction of any of the parents.

"Is this a school initiative?" one of the mothers asked from the back.

Hermione seemed ready to answer that it wasn't before Harry quieted her with a look just in time for Greengrass to intervene.

"Professor Flitwick is the supervisor of these lectures," she said smoothly. Hermione looked at the two of them confused at the answer, having realized that it didn't answer the question. Harry concealed an amused smile behind his hand. After spending so much time with Salazar, noticing a deflection was easy enough, and it entertained him that Daphne was so good at it. The mother and the other parents seemed appeased, and Flitwick smiled widely and nodded at them, no doubt having noticed the deflection himself.

"There is a reason why we have begun this project this year specifically," Daphne said slowly. When she received confirmation in the form of a nod from Harry, she continued more assuredly, "I take it that Professor Flitwick did not inform you on recent Wizarding history, so I will speak briefly about what has happened here in the past two decades.

"During the 1970s and until 1981, there was an insurrection in Magical Britain. You can think of it in terms of the IRA in Ireland," the parents looked at their children concernedly, no doubt questioning their safety. Hermione looked impressed that Daphne knew what the IRA was, and Harry noticed how she described Voldemort as an insurrectionist, which severely downplayed his importance, "be assured that your children are safe in Hogwarts. This conflict has ended when the leader of the said group was killed on Halloween, 1981 and there haven't been any large scale violence in Magical Britain since, and the school is likely the second safest environment in Magical Britain, after Gringotts. However, there are still... tensions regarding the group's ideology.

"This group preached that magic should be the exclusive benefit of families with old ties to magic, or what we call Pureblood. My family is a Pureblood family that did not support this group, as was Harry's father's family. This group also included some of what we call Half-bloods, people like Harry who are the children from a Pureblood, and a non-Pureblood couple. Again, rest assured, the large majority of wizards and witches around will not care if you are Muggle-born or not. There is a big contingent of family members of those with ties to this group that is attending Hogwarts or that work in the Ministry of Magic, however, and I will not lie to you and tell you that there is no discrimination against Muggle-born. The reason I cannot openly help you at Hogwarts is that if I am caught doing so, my family will suffer the consequences."

Her last sentence was spoken in a steely tone that commanded the attention of the entire room, and Harry took up the mantle before one parent would ask another question.

"Some people will tell you that you are inherently worse in using or understanding magic because of your family heritage, but that is nonsense. Hermione is the best student in our year and widely considered one of the smartest people in Hogwarts and she is a Muggle-born," Hermione blushed slightly at the praise but made good use of the stares she received to pass along her message.

"If you put your mind to it and remember the privilege of being able to practice magic, there is nothing to stop you from learning magic faster and better than everyone around you. All it takes is effort and dedication."

"Our intention," Harry said slowly, "is to ensure you will have a sufficient grasp on magic so that you can't be considered inferior by people who still follow the thinking of that Dark wizard."

The parents looked speculatively at the three children, wondering about whether or not it was a good idea. They all remembered the talk the Professor had given about the limitation of the Trace and had already connected the dots to be sure that it wouldn't apply in this building. Some of them had already figured out that these old families the girl had spoken about probably didn't have the same problem and were looking at the three older students to try to detect any bad intentions.

"This Dark wizard you're talking about would be that Lord Voldemort chap?" a man asked from near them. Harry looked in the direction of the man and saw him hovering above the younger Creevey sibling, who was still staring at Harry with a great deal of admiration. He remembered Colin telling him that his father was a milkman. The man looked cheerful and youthful but was now staring dead seriously at Harry.

"There is a rather large hippogriff in the room," Daphne said beside him, making the parents look confused at the mention of the oddly named species, "this wizard did call himself Lord Voldemort, yes. More importantly..."

Daphne hesitated and looked at Harry, who smiled softly and took up the conversation.

"This wizard was killed in 1981 when he went to attack my family," the parents looked horrified at this point, but Harry continued as calmly as he could, "he managed to kill both my parents, but when he went to attack me, the curse he cast bounced back and killed him instead. Because of that, I am quite famous in this world."

Hermione took his hand and squeezed it softly in support, and Harry smiled sadly at her before continuing, "I think it is important that Muggle-born like you be as well-learned about magic as you can be because until no one can say that you are inferior, Voldemort might be dead, but he won't be defeated."

The last statement was bullshit, but only Hermione didn't know that amongst the four organizers, and it was her determined and positive attitude that would have to convince the parents. With her being the only Muggle-born of the instructors, she could be a role model for the parents and the students in ways that neither Daphne nor Harry could be.

At this point, many of the parents were looking determined or thankful, and some were patting their children on the shoulder and giving affirmative nods. The children were confused about the statements concerning Voldemort but looked delighted at the idea of learning more about magic in general.

Harry sighed discreetly in relief. Now comes the last difficult part. He nodded minutely at Flitwick's direction, with them having agreed that this next part would be better received if it came from him.

"That brings us to another significant point. I am afraid that Mr. Potter is somewhat downplaying just how famous he is. As a consequence, a lot of wizards and witches accompany a lot of what he does, and this project would fall into this category. The problem is that if people knew about this, many Purebloods in the Ministry who associated with Lord Voldemort would attempt to halt it."

Harry looked at the Professor with respect and noticed Greengrass also staring admiringly at the half-goblin now that the attention was not turned at them. They had not agreed on how to convince the parents of the necessity for secrecy, but this was perfect. Hermione merely accepted it with a nod.

"As a consequence, I will ask you to sign these documents. I have requested Gringotts to write this simple and standard non-disclosure agreement for all the parents to sign," Flitwick levitated a pile of documents and landed each contract in front of each parent. They already had his signature on them as well as those from a Gringotts representative acting as an intermediary, and each NDA was only a couple of pages long detailing the activities of the group and the terms of the imposed secrecy. A parent in the group identified herself as a lawyer and volunteered to check the document and after a couple of minutes, she told everyone that it was fine. Following that, all parents swiftly signed the accord, with only a couple, including Mr. Creevey, reading it themselves.

"With that settled, there is another matter at hand. There is something called a magical oath, which can vary in gravity or scope from very strenuous to quite light. They are very common in businesses and the Ministry, and many families use them regularly to keep their secrets. They form a kind of magic contract."

"You are not asking our children to enter into a contract, are you?" the lawyer asked sternly. "Any contract with an underaged can be voided, and we have already represented their interests by signing the NDA."

"The idea of the contract is not to bind your children to the secret, but to ensure they are not overheard or spied on when discussing this group," Flitwick squeaked delightfully. Harry again was surprised by the Professor's quick logic, and while Hermione was merely analyzing the professor and trying to decipher the workings of magical oaths, once more Greengrass was also looking at the half-goblin with newfound respect. They shared a look. They had both underestimated the professor. "This oath will not have any consequences to your children beyond being unable to forget their restriction to not speak about this group with people that do not know about it. If someone not in the know is within earshot of their discussion, your children will hesitate and instinctively know they should not continue. However, you should never swear an oath not written by someone you trust or not reviewed by a law-wizard."

The parents looked wary but decided to defer to the professor's authority after some more back and forth about the specific terms of the oath and the consequences of breaking it. Harry knew that if he had made the same arguments, they would be unconvinced. He frowned frustrated, putting that item in the list of things he would have to ponder in the following months.

Harry looked at the parchment that contained the oath that every magical in the room was taking. He noticed that the parents were reassured that he was also taking the oath and looked less wary.

" _I, Harry James Potter, swear not to divulge the existence of the building situated on 128 Diagon Alley or the lectures provided within the building by Harry James Potter, Daphne Isabella Greengrass, Hermione Jean Granger, or Charms Master Filius Flitwick. So mote it be_."

Harry swore the oath and noticed as a brief light surrounded his wand. He heard a cacophony of sounds as the Muggle-born one by one swore the same oath, each animatedly admiring the light that burst out of their wands. As they went on, he considered whether the usage of vows would have saved him from the pain in Second Year, or would prove Sirius' innocence to the Wizengamot. There was no way it was that simple, was it?

He put buying a book on magical oaths and talking to Flitwick about them on top priority.

When they were all done, Harry got up and clapped, "right, let's begin our first lecture."

After that, he waved his wand and wordlessly pushed a bit of magic on his armchair and watched it as it was transfigured into a wide green board. He noticed how the students and the parents were watching him like he was Merlin and with the corner of his eye, he noticed Hermione trembling slightly as she tried to stop her laughter and Daphne hiding a smile behind her hand. Flitwick was also watching with an amused twinkle in his eye, bobbing up and down on his heels.

During the morning, Greengrass suggested using a bit of magic to impress the parents and students into respecting them, and after being reminded that Muggles could not see a Patronus, Flitwick and Hermione started designing a simple runic array to switch a delayed transfiguration. After Flitwick performed the transfiguration and the girls had tested the switching array, Harry pushed his magic to activate it a couple of times to test its endurance.

Needless to say, even if the array was too long and too difficult to use in a combat situation or a duel, the display of magic was way too cool for Harry not to immediately send a letter to McGonagall switching his electives.

"Let us begin."


	12. Lectures (Part II)

**Chapter Twelve - Lectures (Part II)**

* * *

"Our lectures today will encompass things that you will not learn in Hogwarts, either because they are thought to be too basic, or simply don't fit the current curriculum," Harry said, before turning vaguely to the mass of parents that had autonomously moved to the back of the room to allow their children to sit around the three teenagers and the half-goblin as they taught, "unfortunately, I am afraid that this will be the first and only time that your parents will be allowed to witness a lecture because of Wizarding Law, but they are welcome to come to this building so long as they restrict themselves to this room."

Again, it was absolute bullshit, because the Ministry had never conceived of the idea, seeing as Hogwarts was unplottable for Muggles and no one would homeschool their children in the vicinity of Muggles anyway. Still, they would be teaching many things that the adults would probably be better off not knowing, lest they disallow their children to attend Hogwarts at all.

"Each of us has an important message to pass through to you, and then we will inform you of a tentative lecture plan before you can go home for the day or simply explore the Wizarding District more thoroughly. If you decide to do that, please heed the advice Professor Flitwick probably gave you earlier and steer clear from Knockturn Alley. You should be safe everywhere else, though."

Seeing the parents' expressions acquiesce and the eagerness printed on the First-Year's faces, Harry smiled gently and went to the transfigured board and begin writing gently with waves of his wand.

 _'What is magic?'_ he wrote down, before turning to the students and requesting their guesses. Harry noticed that both Daphne and Hermione were eyeing him oddly, but Flitwick was smirking knowingly.

"Isn't magic just a form of energy?" A man asked at the back before any of the children could hazard a guess. Harry noticed the man was wearing a well-tailored suit and had a thin pair of glasses that made him the stereotype of an intelligent rich man.

"Are you a scientist, sir?" Hermione interjected before Harry could respond.

"Physicist, yes," the man nodded. Hermione nodded back happily and by the look in her eye was about to enter one of her long rambling interrogatories, but was stopped by a light touch of her arm by Harry.

"Well, sir, there _is_ a connection between science and magic at some level. In one of our first lectures on Transfiguration, which is the subject I used to transform my armchair to this green board, we learn that magical energy is expended to make up for the differential in mass between objects, which is why making much larger objects from smaller ones takes up a lot more effort," Harry explained, startling Hermione who no doubt did not expect this level of calm expertise and was looking at him with a great deal of admiration that made him thoroughly uncomfortable, "but I was speaking less from a scientific point of view and more from a magical point of view."

"Another thing that Mr. Potter did not mention is that your children will learn a sequence of Magical Laws that dictate the limitations of Magic itself that would follow something like your Conservation of Mass Law," Professor Flitwick added. The physicist seemed partially appeased, but still looked like he was bursting for more information whenever the children weren't present.

After a few beats of silences, Harry turned to the children and smiled kindly, "so, do any of you have any guesses?"

"Is it like our souls or something?" one girl asked shyly. Some adults scoffed at the idea of a soul, while some of the other parents looked offended on the child's behalf.

"You are closer than you think," Harry said kindly, noticing that the kid was ashamed of herself, "in the Magical World there has been proof of the existence of souls for a while now, but it would be more appropriate to say that your soul is component of your magic, same as your head and body."

The girl seemed very happy that she didn't say nonsense and many parents looked doubtful at the idea of souls existing. Harry resist the urge to sigh, desperately wishing he had kicked the parents out from the building before the lectures starting, but knowing it would be impolite and poorly-received.

When no one else stepped forward with a guess, Harry sat down on one of the still existing armchair's arms and faced the children solemnly.

"You can think about Magic in many ways. If you are more attuned to scientific thinking like the physicist in the back, you may think of it in terms of a form of energy. If you spiritually-minded, you may think of it as a power within you. A more practical approach among some of you may be to think of it as an organ, same as your heart or lungs," he paused and stared at each First-Year in turn before continuing, "there is no one approach to understanding Magic that is universally accepted amongst wizards, whose attitude towards Magic is to simply accept that it _is_.

"There are things that we do know, however. If you give a wand to one of your parents, none of them will be able to do perform any magical feats with it. In the future, any potions that you brew will have effects on you, but not on your parents. Diseases that affect them will affect you less and less until you are immune as your magic develops," Harry turned to the parents, "you may have noticed that your children got sick a lot less than the other children, or that they recovered faster from bruises and bones breaking. That is because their innate magic is protecting them."

Some parents looked delighted at finally having an explanation for that facet of their children's unusual behavior, but one or two were looking at the kids warily, no doubt not having realized before how much Magic would influence their lives. Harry had to work through a surge in anger at their suspicions, thinking about the many times the Dursley's had called him a freak. After taking a couple of deep breathes to center himself, he turned back to the children.

"From that, I can say to you confidently that Magic is a part of _you_. We know that one too because there is a very close connection between Magic and emotions. When you were younger and got angry or sad or happy, you had bursts of what we call accidental magic, in which odd things happened around you," Harry wanted to tell them about Aunt Marge, but sensing the lingering wariness in some adults' faces, he thought best and settled on telling them how he turned his teacher's hair blue, or how his hair grew back in one night after having it cut by his Aunt. Hermione revealed that sometimes a light appeared spontaneously when she wanted to keep reading at night, or how she would push children trying to bully her in kindergarten back without touching them. Daphne revealed that accidental magic happened less with children growing up in Wizarding Britain, but that she used to float out of her crib whenever she got hungry. Flitwick said nothing and blended against the roaring fireplace, making Harry question if his goblin heritage had influenced his magic growing up.

"More than that, you may learn some spells that demand a certain frame of mind. For instance... _Expecto Patronum,_ " he proclaimed loudly after gripping his wand calmly. He watched as Prongs emerged and who, after noticing that no dangers surrounded its wizard, started running in circles and nuzzling the children with his head, or prodding them gently with its antlers. A sense of happiness and hope permeated the room, with even the adults seemingly affected, even if they clearly could not see his guardian. The children could and kept petting the deer as it passed near them. After allowing it to peruse through the First-Years a couple more times, Harry cut down the connection between him and Prongs. Daphne, who had heard he could perform a Patronus earlier that day and had heard rumors about it during the school year, was looking at him in barely concealed awe, and even Flitwick seemed surprised by the sheer power of his Patronus. Harry once more thought on his conversations with Salazar and remembered how the portrait had praised him for achieving a Patronus at thirteen.

"This spell summons a protector made from pure happiness and positive energy and requires the caster to be filled with those same feelings. Your emotions might also affect regular spells by supercharging them or making them more difficult to cast if you are angry or anxious respectively, for example," Harry commented, trying not to pay attention to how the children were looking at him like he was divine. If nothing else, his position as a point of reference for the Muggle-born the coming year was completely and firmly settled. "Which brings me to the point I was trying to make from the beginning.

Channeling a previous conversation he had with Salazar, he breathed deeply at began with the most professorial tone he could muster

"I want you to think of your magic as a river. You will learn magic in a certain way, with incantations and wand movements and thinking about the right things at the right time. You will learn the importance of intent and how some people's magic is more attuned to certain things than others. Some of you may even learn about how few select people have some special attributes to their Magic, like how they can shift their face at will or how they can turn into an animal. Your Transfiguration professor will turn into a tabby cat at your first lecture," he smirked, enjoying their astonished faces and cackling internally at how he had just ruined McGonagall's first act as teacher, "it is important for you to remember that these steps, like using a wand, are just steps to make you control the river within you easier. You can perform magic without a wand, as you have done in forms of accidental magic many times before, you can perform magic without incantations or just point casting your spells instead of using the appropriate movements. The more you practice your magic, the easier doing all of those things will become, like playing a sport. That is why you are here, to have a spot where you can practice and learn magic without breaking any laws."

Harry spoke his last sentence firmly and witnessed the silence that imposed itself on the room when he finally finished. Breaking Hermione of her reverie, that was staring at him wide-eyed and somewhat flushed, he called on her to start her lecture, making her mumble something he couldn't hear and go gather her homework planners, that she gingerly handed to each student.

"Right, I will give you a summary of every branch of Magic you will be learning at Hogwarts and here, and if I can, I will show it to you too."

As Hermione began talking about the History of Magic and glancing over some important events in history (Harry was amused to notice that the children were taking notes, which seemed to embolden Hermione to use the green board and start lecturing them more thoroughly), Flitwick tugged lightly on his sleeve and motioned for them to talk near the fire. After casting a quick _Muffliato_ , the professor turned to him and asked more sternly than he had ever heard the half-goblin speak.

"Mr. Potter, where did you learn this insight into Magic?"

"The Hogwarts Library is very vast, Professor," Harry lied easily, blinking in surprise when the goblin sneered lightly.

"You forget yourself, Mr. Potter. I have been a teacher at Hogwarts for longer than you are alive. I know exactly what is and isn't on that library."

Knowing that nothing he could say would salvage the situation, Harry elected to stay silent. After being stared down by the half-goblin for a minute, but managing to not avert his gaze, the professor sighed and rubbed his temples.

"Mr. Potter, I do know someone is teaching you this because that was far too smooth a lecture to have come from a book," Harry tried to defend himself but was stopped as the professor raised his hand in warning, "I have known your parents far too well not to know that if I tell you to not do something, you will insist on doing more recklessly than before, but do reflect on this. You are questioning Albus as an authority figure and trying to break off his control, that much is obvious. Beware that you do not simply trade one master for the other."

Flitwick canceled the _Muffliato_ and simply walked away to flank Daphne, who looked bored at Hermione's lecture. Luckily, the children seemed transfixed.

Harry's first reaction was anger. How _dare_ he? He was not Salazar's puppet, he followed only his own directive. That was what this entire thing was about, to be himself and seek his goals without interference from Dumbledore or Riddle. After stewing on the question he had to concede that he did put a lot of stock into Slytherin's words, but that they have yet to fail him. Was that a sign of Salazar's goodwill, or wisdom, or would the portrait fail him as Dumbledore had? He grimaced at the thought, but couldn't think about how he could be betrayed with his current arrangement with the man. Still, the concern lingered, and Harry walked back to near Hermione mulling Flitwick's warning.

When he reached his best friend, she was talking animatedly about Potions. Harry shook his sadly knowing that this building was likely where they would have the only decent Potions lectures they would ever have because of Snape. After a couple of minutes of lecturing, she handed one student what she called an Invigoration Draught that she brewed earlier today and told them to sip it.

"That's a Fifth-Year potion there. Not bad on Granger," Daphne muttered near him. Harry smirked, remembering how Hermione had brewed Polyjuice in Second-Year but said nothing. After all the children but one had sipped the Draught, Hermione caught the flask and looked apologetic, but immediately explained.

"I will be teaching you a simple Charm, and want you to see what Harry talked about when it comes to your mental state. You will be the only student not casting it while under the effects of the Draught, and after you manage to cast it, I'll give it to you and you'll cast it again to see the difference."

The kid was too happy to learn about their first spell to care about it, and the others were similarly affected. Harry was too busy staring at Hermione to do anything else. He had not spoken with anyone else about what he would tell the students, and she had immediately moved to demonstrate his teachings without even testing it first. Not to mention the level of trust she showed that he knew what he was speaking about, she also created this experiment remarkably fast. Harry smiled softly, admiring his best friend's mind once again.

Hermione was at her best when thinking about thinking. Harry was happy that she was acting a lot more like herself today, and had an inkling that Greengrass had something to do with it. He absently wondered if Hermione wrote the vow for the Slytherin she had mentioned the previous day for her to be much more amenable and less moody, but instinctively knew he would be at the end of a lot of stinging hexes if he asked that question to the girl.

"The Charm you will cast will be the Wand-Lighting Charm, called _Lumos_ and the Wand-Extinguishing Charm, called _Nox_. Before you get out your wands, we will repeat the incantations carefully."

"Can't we use them without saying anything like Harry said?"

"Eventually, but it takes a lot of work," Hermione said sternly, waving her finger around bossily, "so don't go trying to do that for a good deal of time. Not even we can cast things silently."

Harry was tempted to cast _Serpensortia_ wandlessly but decided that would not go well with the parents present.

"The tonic syllable in the Wand-Lighting Charm is the first one. So you said it as _LOO-mos_. Repeat it with me." After ten or so iterations of the incantation, Hermione was satisfied. "The Wand-Extinguishing Charm only has one syllable, so call it as it is written, with a slight emphasis on the last sound. Say it with me, _NOKKS_."

Again, the children said the incantation a few times before their teacher was satisfied. After that, she went on to teach them the wand movements for both Charms. Harry snorted when Hermione taught them that the wand movement for _Lumos_ was like a loop in a rollercoaster, and outright laughed at Daphne's visible confusion with the term, but helped the students nonetheless correct their too wide or too slow wand movements. After signaling that the _Nox_ charm had to be cast moving their wands in a wave-like fashion, she challenged them all to cast the first spell.

A cacophony of sounds emerged from the children but after a minute none of them had managed it. They were starting to grow frustrated but stopped casting as soon as Hermione started to giggle slightly.

"Don't worry, there's nothing wrong with you. I didn't expect any of you to manage it just yet," she assured them when she realized some of them looked like they were going to have a tantrum. "There's an element in Harry's speech that you have not tried, and that's why you can't cast it yet. Can any of you guess what it is?"

Harry was again impressed at how seemingly smooth she managed to connect his speech with her lectures but noticed with some disappointment that none of them tried to answer, despite their visible efforts to remember his words.

"Harry?" Hermione gently requested from him, turning to him with a smile. He returned her smile with his own and answered facing the students.

"Intent."

"Correct," Hermione beamed, her eyes sparkling with joy. She was clearly enjoying herself teaching the children, Harry realized. "You have to try to visualize what you want your magic to do and will it to happen. The clearer the mental picture, the easier your casting will be."

"Do we have to do that every time we do a spell?" One of the kids asked, frowning slightly.

"With some spells, yes," Harry nodded. "The _Expecto Patronum_ is one such spell that will always require a happy state of mind. But not with _Lumos_ or _Nox_."

Seeing the confused faces of the students, Daphne decided to intervene for the first time in the lecture. "Remember what Harry said about how magic is like playing a sport? As you practice a spell enough times, it will become second nature to you. Magic is somewhat sentient, and if you master a spell, you will not have to worry yourself with trying to visualize it all the time. But for the first few times, you will have to do so."

"Correct," Hermione said, but Harry noticed that her smile was noticeably less bright and didn't quite reach her eyes. He frowned in confusion, wondering if the truce between the two young women wasn't as strong as he imagined. "So please, try to imagine your magic lighting a small ball of light at the end of your wand as you are casting the spell."

"With some wizards, closing your eyes beforehand can help," Flitwick squeaked encouragingly from behind the three standing teenagers. Daphne startled slightly, having more or less forgotten the half-goblin was there. She imagined he would intervene more considering this was his specialty, but he had not commented more than once or twice during Hermione's entire lecture and had stepped back to not feature alongside them as the Gryffindor spoke.

They all watched as the students stopped to concentrate, some of them grimacing and sticking their tongues out, and some calmly closing their eyes. Daphne noticed that both Harry and Hermione had stepped forward to help the students concentrate, with the latter stopping in front of the only one who hadn't taken the Invigoration Draught and talking in a low tone with him, and thought she ought to do the same. Eyeing the ten students, she noticed a small black-haired girl that was simply staring ahead without moving a muscle and decided to speak with her.

When she bent down to speak with the girl - using her legs and keeping her back straight, unlike the two other older teenagers; honestly, had neither of them any preoccupation with appearances whatsoever? - she had to blink to mask her surprise. Potter had, by far, the most startling eyes of any wizard she had ever met, and this was an admission she made while recognizing that she also had bright blue eyes that also unsettled people. This small girl also had an eye-catching gaze, with big unblinking light amber eyes staring back at her in confusion.

"Are you having any difficulty, Miss...?"

"Tessier, Madeleine Tessier," the girl said in a soft voice with the tiniest foreign twinge.

"Are you French, Miss Tessier?" Daphne asked curiously, knowing that the surname meant weaver.

"No, I'm English," she answered, but again with the slightest intonation in the world ' _English'_ that made it sound like ' _Engleesh'_ , "but _mon père_ is French and met mum here in London."

Daphne contained an amused smile at how she fully gave up on holding back her slight accent and just spoke in French when talking about her father and how she couldn't sound more English when she said 'mum'.

"I see. And are you having a hard time concentrating, Miss Tessier?"

"No," she shook her head politely before offering a hesitant smile and whispering like she was divulging a big secret, "I have an easy time seeing things, so I don't need to close my eyes or anything like that to visualize something."

"Is that so?" Daphne said, more curious than accusingly. "Well, why don't we try then?"

The little girl nodded and returned to her previous posture of looking a million miles away. Daphne noticed how the girl's eyes dulled to a dark brown before suddenly returning to her normal color and brightening even further when she broke out of her reverie and calmly uttered the spell.

Daphne was further surprised when she saw how brightly her _Lumos_ shone. It wasn't as bright as Daphne could cast it, let alone Potter, who seemed much more magically strong than she was, but it was certainly formidable for a First-Year.

"Very good, Miss Tessier," she said, still eyeing the bright white light. Daphne noticed that the other students stopped casting and were staring in awe at Madeleine, with Harry smiling warmly at Daphne and Hermione failing to withhold her scowl. Daphne resisted the urge to smirk back at Granger and simply nodded to Potter before turning to Madeleine. "Do you think you can cast the _Nox_ charm now?"

Madeleine nodded and once again unfocused her gaze. The light at the end of her wand dimmed and then shone ever brighter along with her eyes before the girl calmly intoned the Wand-Extinguishing Charm. Daphne was pleased with the girl's grasp on intent with her magic, but she hesitated to praise her too effusively. ' _Remember what Father has told you all your life._ '

"You did well, but remember that you cannot always rely on your method of visualization to cast. In an emergency, it would take far too much time for you to focus."

The tiny girl nodded and wordlessly went back to her trance, trying to shorten it with every cycle. At the end of ten minutes, when Harry clapped to call attention to himself, she still couldn't cast without first entering into a trance, but it was noticeably shorter than before.

"Alright, everyone managed to do the _Lumos_ charm followed by the _Nox_ charm at least three times in a row. Hermione?"

"Okay, you have all seen that Richard's Wand-Lighting Charm shone the weakest because he had no Draught. Now, he is going to sip the last of the Invigorating Draught and will cast it the same way he did so before. Richard, please?"

The small blond kid drunk the rest of the vial animatedly and immediately opened his eyes in shock.

"Woah, this is wicked," he said amazed whilst looking at his arms, making everyone chuckle around him, breaking the visage from even some of the more serious parents, whose amazement had dulled a bit at seeing their children perform the Charm for ten minutes. He breathed deeply and closed his eyes before speaking loudly, " _Lumos_!"

Daphne had to avert her eyes from the sudden wave of light that burst into the room and noticed that some of the adults and students did as well. Neither Harry nor Hermione had, however, much to her annoyance. Richard looked a bit wobbly after the spell and had to sit down before casting the _Nox._

"How are you feeling, Richard?" Hermione asked gently, rushing forwards to sit down in front of him.

"I'm alright, ma'am," he mumbled tiredly, a bit embarrassed from the attention, "just got tired."

"I am not ma'am, just call me Hermione, Richard," she responded amusedly, before turning serious and getting up, "does anyone know why his spell was so much brighter and why he got so tired?"

A chorus of whispers sounded in the room before a somewhat tall boy raised his hand and was called Thomas by Harry.

"Is it because he had just had the potion?" Thomas asked.

"Not exactly," Harry denied after thinking for a second, "and it's not because he is magically more powerful either. It is simply because he was getting used to channeling his magic a lot more forcefully than any of you. It was like trying to get an elephant through a door, he had to use a lot more energy than you because he had no Draught. So when he went to cast it using the same energy he used before, it went a lot brighter than he was expecting. Like walking a flight of stairs and not noticing when you reach the last step."

Hermione nodded, having reached the same conclusion. Daphne was impressed by how seamlessly the lectures had gone so far. She had underestimated Granger's intelligence, thinking she just vomited the textbooks into the tests using a prodigious memory, but it was clear the girl had an impressive grasp on the theory that she could apply practically, and more impressively yet, could pass unto others with ease. It was Potter's grasp on practical magic that truly astonished Daphne, however. He spoke of abstract concepts concerning Magic and its forms with naturality that went far beyond his age. Either the boy was holding back on his knowledge for years, which she wouldn't discount him doing considering their conversations the day before, or he had very recently found a very good teacher. But there was no one she knew that could teach him this kind of knowledge. She would have said Dumbledore before yesterday, but now that was obviously not the case.

"Right," Harry said, casting a quick _Tempus_ and not noticing the amazed glances the action had warranted from the students. Hermione smiled a bit at the sight. The kids were completely mesmerized by all three of them, but it was clear that Harry was their favorite, probably because of his Patronus and the way he led easily. She had always known he had potential, and it filled her with pride seeing him speaking so intelligently and with confidence to the First-Years. It was like he had transformed into his best self after seeing Sirius, and for that, she was thankful for the Askaban escapee. "We have spent far too much time on Charms, so we'll just leave DADA and Herbology for another time. Do you mind continuing your lectures another day, Hermione?"

Secretly, Harry had realized halfway through the Charms lecture that talking about Defense Against the _Dark Arts_ would lead to some very uncomfortable conversations with the adults in the room, and speaking about the monsters both human and creature in the Magical World would just lead to undue anxiety. Best to leave that topic to just the kids. Plus, they had no greenhouses in the building, which would leave just the theoretical work to be taught in regards to Herbology, and that was just boring.

Harry absently wondered about asking Neville for help, but their friendship wasn't strong enough to do that just yet. Maybe a letter asking about Herbology to other Gryffindor wouldn't be inappropriate, however.

"Do any of you have any questions?" Hermione asked the children.

They looked at one another and some of them were whispering, but no one had a question until Madeleine raised her hand.

"Sorry, what's your name?" Hermione asked.

"It's Miss Tessier," Daphne intervened before the girl could answer. Hermione frowned at Daphne before turning kindly to the smaller girl.

"What's your _first_ name?" Hermione asked. Daphne sighed softly. The girl had no manners whatsoever. But then again, it wasn't her fault, she also wasn't educated in Wizarding Culture, but at least Harry acknowledged the fact and wished to learn.

"It's Madeleine," she said, before asking her question as Hermione smiled and motioned for her to do so, "Harry said that Richard wasn't magically more powerful than us, but how could he know? Is there a way to tell?"

Harry frowned while pondering the question, with Flitwick looking at him questioningly. The diminutive professor had also been impressed by Harry, but that had been somewhat dimmed by his concerns regarding the source of the boy's information. It was clear that he had no yet learned this from whoever had been teaching him, so this was a good opportunity to witness his instincts for Magic in general.

"I am not sure," he said slowly looking at no one in particular before looking at Madeleine, "I don't think it's possible, however. Magical power as an absolute measure makes no sense because people have different affinities. Any complete test would have to take into account that some people's magic has a very high attunement with Herbology or Potions, which are much harder to measure than if someone has a talent for defensive shields or offensive curses."

Again he stopped and thought about the question before scratching his neck and turning around to face the Charms Master. "Professor?"

Flitwick looked at Harry, silently judging the answer. It was essentially correct, albeit incomplete. Not yet sure what to think on the matter, the half-goblin merely stepped forward and greeted the question himself.

"Indeed, Mr. Potter is correct. An all-encompassing test of one's magical prowess is impossible because Magic can manifest in many different ways. Some people have a balanced mix of affinities, and some people are rather extremely attuned to just one or two fields. Hogwarts students are almost always in the first camp, with a small part of them also having a strong affinity for a specific subject. For instance, Miss Granger has an affinity for Charms, being the first to cast almost every single spell I teach in my class. We can't objectively create a scale upon which to place every single wizard to determine who's strongest," Flitwick said pensively, before glancing at Harry and then turning back to Madeleine. "However, we can have a grasp on how powerful a wizard is in comparison to others based on certain factors if we surround ourselves with them for long enough. Mr. Potter is _for a fact_ a far more powerful wizard than the average wizard his age, being much closer to a Sixth or Seventh Year than the Fourth Year he will become come September. An example of this is the fact that he probably is the youngest wizard in the country to be able to cast a corporeal Patronus, something even I can't do."

While Hermione was preening about the praise she got from the Professor, both Harry and Daphne were shocked. The former because he would never guess that Flitwick didn't have a corporeal Patronus and the latter because while she had guessed that Potter was powerful, him being as powerful as a _Seventh Year_ in his Fourth Year was just amazing. Maybe she would have to review her conversation with Granger.

Uncaring about all of their predicaments, Flitwick plowed on.

"I will not be teaching anything to you today, and will generally be here merely as a support for the three older students," he said, before summoning a bunch of books he carefully climbed to be able to see the parents in the back successfully, to whom he spoke next, "while I understand that you may be reluctant to leave your children's educations in the hands of three teenagers, I assure you that these three are three of the most well-respected students by their peers are professors alike. Mr. Potter has a profound grasp on practical magic and is the most magically gifted student of his year and Miss Granger is the most academically successful student of her year and knows more than enough theoretical Magic to teach all of your children, and Miss Greengrass is a formidable witch in her own right, ranking highly on practical and theoretical examinations on her classes. But it is her grasp on Wizarding Culture and Customs that will be her greatest asset to your sons and daughters. Miss Greengrass, if you please?"

Taking the cue, Daphne nodded in appreciation to the half-goblin and stepped forward, keeping her posture relaxed and straight, with a raised chin and glancing calmly in the direction of the parents behind the children, all of whom were looking at her curiously.

While Harry was the favorite for the children, the parents seemed to respect her most of all, which greatly pleased Daphne and relaxed her nerves a bit, making her forget what Cygnus Greengrass had told her about dealing with adults enough to address them calmly. With a charming smile, she spoke.

"Sirs and Madams, I am afraid that due to the restrictions imposed by the Ministry, much of what I will impart to your children will be only for their ears. Because of that, I will leave all of you with just a warning and will leave the lecture per se for our next meeting."

Letting the smile drop from her face and replacing it with a calm but penetrating stare, she looked to the children, taking care not to look down at them but still insisting on keeping her face somewhat more raised than another witch would do naturally.

"The term _Magical Britain_ is something of a misnomer. Many wizards and witches raised in the United Kingdom assume that this," she said, vaguely gesticulating to Diagon Alley and the room at large, "is merely an eccentric and somewhat anachronistic part of Muggle Britain. That is a lie."

Daphne was suddenly filled with gratitude that Granger was there, not because she was listening to her words or because she was adding to the conversation - Merlin knows that the witch looked like she was about to burst - but every time Granger looked like she was about to open her mouth and complain, Daphne knew she had to explain her last sentence. It was an unorthodox but effective barometer.

"To clarify, many older families refer to Magical Britain as _Avalon_ , referencing the traditional founding of Modern Magical British History by Merlin."

"Wait, King Arthur and Merlin are real?" One of the parents interrupted in awe, while other parents were similarly astounded.

"Indeed," Daphne replied with her brightest smile and a very polite nod, "some of Wizarding Culture has filtered through to Muggle culture, particularly before the Statute of Secrecy imposed the separation between our worlds. Nevertheless, the traditions and customs of wizards and witches truly make Magical Britain a completely different country from the United Kingdom, despite our territorial commonalities."

"Why should _we_ bow down to _your_ culture?" One adult asked rather nastily, making Harry frown in anger and some parents look scandalized. Hermione looked rather smug.

Daphne merely smiled even brighter to the man.

"Why, for many reasons. First of all, the Muggle-born are a clear minority in Wizarding Britain, and the imposition of a minority rule over a majority is a clear violation of the rights derived from your very own society."

"Democracy is not the dictatorship of the majority, lassie," the same man retorted.

"Of course not, sir," Daphne said agreeably, noting amusedly that Harry was having a hard time keeping his cool and Flitwick was merely staring daggers at the parent. Hermione just seemed offended at the use of the term _lassie_. "However, nor is it the privilege of the few. Think of Magical Britain like Japan. You can travel to work in Japan and choose to ignore their customs and traditions all you like, but when it comes time to be promoted, who do you think will have the better odds, you or the man beside you that has taken care to learn the language, greetings, and customs?"

"You say that like we don't outnumber you," the parent snorted.

"Why don't you argue that in Diagon and see how _that_ works for you?" Harry snapped, with some magic seeping out from him and making the air smell vaguely of ozone. Daphne cursed herself for forgetting that this new and improved Potter was still a Gryffindor and interjected before the man, whose face was now turning a furious red, could say anything more abrasive.

"What Harry means," Daphne said smoothly, breaking the man out of the incoming flood of insults, "is that despite what it may look like, wizards and witches do not demand subservience to our way of doing things, and most of us will be more than agreeable to listening to how we can improve our society, but that doing so without acknowledging that we are different people with different traditions will only lead to tension and conflict."

The man didn't look sufficiently pleased that his son or daughter would have to learn a foreign culture, but before he could complain further his wife looked like she had enough and hissed something harshly in his ear that made his hesitate and then huff angrily, but he kept his peace.

Turning again to the children, that looked highly uncomfortable with the discussion, Daphne smiled warmly, which made them less fearful of the menacing aura Harry was still exuding as he glared against the man.

"I am going to teach you how our government works, how to greet wizards and witches, some of our customs, what you can expect from Hogwarts and beyond, and some things about the world outside Britain," she said kindly, "just remember that it is very important that you learn this to be as respectful as possible to the people you are going to meet."

The kids nodded and Daphne smiled at them again, before drawing her posture upwards and walking back to near the other two teenagers, taking care to put a calming hand in Harry's arm. Hermione narrowed her eyes in irritation, but Daphne couldn't bring herself to care. Harry needed to take control of his magic or he would do something that would ruin his plans in the next few minutes. He flinched at the touch, but soon realized what was happening and closed his eyes to center his magic back and smiled sheepishly at Daphne.

"Do any of you have any questions?" Flitwick asked. When no one said anything, the children having been cowed by the recent confrontation and the parents having mostly recognized that their understanding of this new world would be limited by law, the professor nodded at them, "very well, I will escort you all to the Leaky Cauldron and I will see all the students in two days when we will be settling for a more permanent schedule. In the meantime, Mr. Potter will be here on business hours to deal with any questions you may have."

"Professor, after you escort them, can you come back here? I have a question to ask," Harry whispered in the half-goblin's ear as he passed by. The professor nodded and left with the adults and children, leaving the three teenagers alone in the room.

Harry pushed his magic back into the green board, transfiguring it back into an armchair he immediately collapsed into.

"Merlin, that man was a piece of work," he grouched, irritably passing his hand through his hair.

"Well," Hermione said tentatively, "he did make some good points."

At this, Harry snapped his neck to face her and growled subvocally, scaring Hermione, that raised her hands to pacify him, "I-I'm just saying...," she defended herself weakly.

"Then _don't,_ " Harry snapped, making Hermione recoil as if struck. A brief look of regret flashed through Harry's face before it hardened and he left the room, "tell Flitwick that I'll be in the classroom prepping some things for Tuesday."

As he left, Hermione was trembling slightly. Daphne sighed, making the girl glare furiously at her.

"What?" Daphne responded. "You're the one that screwed up."

Hermione huffed indignantly, but soon the witch just deflated. "I don't know why he got so angry," she admitted timidly, bothered that she couldn't understand her best friend's behavior.

"Well, I don't know Potter as well as you do, but from what you've told me about him earlier today, that man acted remarkably like you suspected his relatives do with him," Daphne pointed out calmly, enjoying the absolute panic that appeared in Granger's face. Honestly, it was obvious the boy hated bullies.

"Oh shit," Hermione uncharacteristically cursed, throwing herself into her armchair and hiding her face behind her hands, "and I _agreed_ with him. Harry must think I'm a monster."

"I wouldn't go that far," Daphne shrugged, "but you did screw up."

Hermione kept trembling, and Daphne could see behind her hands that the older witch's face was completely white. She sighed and passed her hand through her forehead, in a nervous tick that she never quite stamped out.

"Granger, do you want Potter or not?"

Hermione hesitated, not feeling comfortable with how easily Greengrass had figured her out during the morning when they had their conversation but realized that lying would be pointless after she had already confided in the Slytherin after being pressured earlier that day. So, she mumbled, still hiding her face, "I do."

"Then you have to remember that Harry is not a Muggle with magical powers, but a wizard, and by the looks of it, a wizard whose wish is to fully integrate with the Wizarding World, and not bring the Muggle one here," Daphne said, before pointing out, "I would shape up quickly if I were you, or another witch will snatch him out from below you."

"And will you be that witch, Greengrass?" Hermione asked with a narrowed and angry gaze, making Daphne again realize why the girl was not in Ravenclaw despite her bookishness. Gryffindors were ridiculously irritable.

"How should I know?" Daphne answered easily. "I don't know the future and I don't owe you anything to make a promise I won't be pursuing the boy. I told you earlier that I find him attractive but that I'm not chasing him because you're far ahead of everyone else and a Greengrass doesn't enter a losing game. If you don't up your game, I won't be your only problem."

Hermione still looked angry, but couldn't really fault the other woman, so just nodded instead. At least the ball was still on her court.

"Why are you helping me anyway, Greengrass?" Hermione asked tiredly after a moment of silence.

"Honestly, watching you be a massive bother because you don't know how to deal with fancying a wizard was a pain in my ass," Daphne said completely dishonestly. There was no way she would be revealing her actual reasons to Granger, and to be fair, she _was_ being a pain in the ass the previous day.

Hermione glared but thanked her with a nod nonetheless. "Tell Harry I'll be planning my next lectures if he asks," she said as she went up and away from the room.

Daphne smirked as she left. At least she could still play _one_ Gryffindor in their little group.

She sat admiring the scenery of the improvised common room for a few minutes when Flitwick finally returned.

"Professor, Harry is in the main classroom waiting for you."

The half-goblin thanked her and went to the room, seeing Harry battle a mountain of papers in the teacher's desk placed at the very front of the room.

"Gringotts papers, Harry?"

"Oh yeah, Flit- I mean Filius," he replied after being surprised at how silently the man entered the room. Or maybe he was just too focused on this Black family stuff to notice. "Something came up a couple of days ago and they've been sending me some papers to check."

"Good luck with that," the Charms Master chuckled, having plenty of experience with bank business in his life, "today went rather well, all things considered, other than at the very end."

"Yeah, I dealt with that very poorly," Harry winced, "thank Merlin for Greengrass."

"She did perform rather well, but that is what happens when children are raised around politicians from an early age," Filius praised agreeably, before stepping closer and sitting on a nearby desk. "So, you wanted to ask me a question?"

"I did," Harry did, finally disentangling himself from his papers and casting a quick _Muffliato_. "I wanted to ask you about magical oaths."

"Cast."

"I wondered if I could have simply given an oath in Second-Year and prove my innocence of the deal when the school was scorning me," Harry said, cautiously using the word innocent to indirectly ask about Sirius without delving into the whole Pettigrew thing. He didn't know Flitwick enough to trust him with that information yet.

"Why don't you leave your wand at your desk so that your oath is not magically binding and say what you imagine would be a valid oath to prove your innocence of the matter," the Professor replied after a moment's silence.

"Alright," Harry did so, taking a moment to wonder before speaking haltingly, "what about ' _I, Harry James Potter, hereby claim I am not the Heir of Slytherin and have no information who is committing these attacks.'_?"

"Okay, let's start with the simplest points. Your claim that you are not the Heir of Slytherin could be interpreted magically in many ways. You are a Parselmouth, which is Slytherin's most well-known magical power, so you can be considered an Heir of Slytherin in that sense, either striking you down for an oathbreaker or stripping away your Parseltongue to comply with the oath. Moreover, as a Potter, your family intermarried with other families frequently, and there may be a distant relationship between you and Slytherin to make you _an_ Heir of Slytherin biologically. And your claim that you have no information about who is committing these attacks would most definitely not be accepted by the oath because you have information on who is _not_ committing the attacks, namely, yourself."

Harry was shocked that a magical oath could strip him of his Parseltongue so easily, or that he could have died or lost his magic in so many eyes with a poorly worded oath, and resolved to _never_ take a magical oath lightly. "What if I merely claimed innocence from the attacks themselves?"

"There is a reason why we have a judicial court, Harry," Flitwick shrugged, "if innocence could be claimed by magical oath, we would simply imprison people unwilling to swear an oath of their innocence as acceptance that they were guilty. While magic is sentient, someone can overcome the binding of an oath by truly believing themselves innocent either directly or through mitigating circumstances using the simplest sleight-of-word or in more extreme cases, Occlumency. Believe it or not, a Death Eater could claim innocence of murdering a thousand Muggles in an unprovoked attack by claiming self-defense if he sincerely believes that Muggles are a threat to Magical society, as many Death Eaters did."

Harry deflated, both at the insanity of the statement that Flitwick had just uttered and at the fact that proving Sirius's innocence got a lot harder if he couldn't rely on an oath-telling to claim it.

"I see," he finally said after a minute of sulking. "Thanks, Filius. That's all."

"Alright then, Harry. Let me know if you need anything else. See you Tuesday?"

"Yeah, see you then."


	13. The Future Policymakers

**Chapter Thirteen - The Future Policymakers**

* * *

"Potter, can we talk?"

"Yeah, sure, Greengrass. What do you want?"

"Do you allow me to enter your room?" Her voice called out from the other side of the door, slightly muffled.

"Is that a thing? Are you a vampire or something?" Harry listened to her indignant huff and smirked slightly. "Feel free to come in, Greengrass."

She opened the door gently and walked slowly in his direction, shooting inquisitive glances around the bedroom. In fairness, there was not much to analyze. It was a small room whose lack of furniture provided for a modicum of workable space, but not enough to illude any visitors that it was a small space. Harry thought it was cozy enough for him, with a discreet wooden pair of desk and chair for writing and reading, a bookshelf with some books, including his Ethics book and Parseltongue notebook, a baggy black pouf on which he was sitting lazily, a single's bed and a closet.

It was to this last piece of furniture that Greengrass pointed first.

"Please tell me that has a magically expanded interior, Potter."

"It has a magically expanded interior, Greengrass," Harry said airily.

"Is that true?" She asked with a cocked eyebrow.

"No, it is not," he responded genially. Greengrass sighed. "Seriously, should it be?"

"Yes, it should, and not because of the clever usage of runes," she started, before sitting down on the wooden chair with a picture-perfect posture, an odd sight in the dingy little chair. Still, the way she sat down gave the thing a sense of propriety in a truly impressive way, almost like it was bequeathed to Harry by a humble but powerful noble. "I offered you help in teaching Wizarding culture to the Muggle-born, but from our conversation at Potage's, you need lectures as well."

"I did admit so at the store, Greengrass. Not exactly a riveting conclusion." Harry deadpanned, feeling a bit frustrated that his reading of the Black family documents had been interrupted twice in the same day, even if he had asked Flitwick to seek him after dropping off the students at the Leaky Cauldron. "I was planning on just going to your lectures."

"To what end, Potter?" Greengrass asked, obviously exasperated but still retaining her posture. "None of the Muggle-born will be sitting on the Wizengamot any time soon, unlike you. You need intensive lectures."

"Shouldn't I crawl before running?"

"You're the student whose first time on a broom merited himself a spot as Seeker for Gryffindor, Potter. Something tells me you'll be better off if I don't ease you into it." It was a bit of an odd way of putting it, but Harry could see its merits. He was always at his best whenever he tried to do things at a fast-pace instead of going by incremental steps. No one else his age had probably even tried to perform the Patronus, after all, let alone a corporeal one. The girl interrupted his musings, interpreting the silence as a way to continue. "Plus, you'll have to learn the politics of the Wizengamot and the Wizarding World at large fast enough so that your ignorance does not hinder your plans."

"My plans, Greengrass? What you mean?" Harry asked, feigning ignorance. You can't ever be too careful around perceptive people, and the Slytherin was certainly perceptive.

"I am not worthy of knowing your plans, remember?" She replied with the slightest amount of irritation seeping into her voice. "I'm not daft, Potter. I know you're not trying to supplant Dumbledore's position as a reference point for the Muggle-born out of concern for them. You're making your first political move. I anticipate it won't be the last. If you ever want to branch out from influencing firsties, you are going to need guidance."

"And I presume you want to be the guide?"

"Do you know of anyone else more competent and willing to help you?" Greengrass asked with a dismissive wave. "If you do, go ahead. I won't stop you."

Harry stared at the girl for a long while and found curious that she did not even give away any inkling of discomfort. People normally squirmed a bit around him whenever he got serious, but Greengrass just took it in stride.

"I do not doubt that you are the most qualified witch I know when it comes to the Wizengamot in general," Harry said slowly, still not taking his eyes from the girl. "My fear is to where you'll guide me. Your family is in the Wizengamot, which makes your tutoring an awfully good opportunity to influence a future member to mirror your votes."

Surprisingly, Greengrass just smirked. "I knew I liked you for a reason, Potter. That level of slight paranoia is perfect for your future," she said, smirk widening into a sly grin, "maybe there is hope for your Slytherin side yet."

"I thought we had affirmed that I am quite Slytherin in my own way," Harry defended himself, trying his best to conceal an amused grin.

"I will remember that next time a parent asks a heated question in one of their visits," she deadpanned. Harry winced.

"Yeah, that was a very poor reaction from me. You were very good at controlling that situation, by the way. It was impressive."

"I know, right? I am amazing," She said, jokingly throwing her hair back over her shoulder. Harry laughed and was pleased to see that Greengrass's posture had loosened up a bit as she laughed softly. The girl could be far too proper for her good, and the snippets of her personality she showed occasionally and the insecurity regarding whatever advice her father had given her showed a different side from the self-assured and confident noble she normally depicted. Harry found he liked both sides of her personality but cherished the moments when the confident visage broke a bit more. It felt like an accomplishment, breaking through her barriers. The moment of relaxation passed quickly, however, as her face grew more serious. "Nevertheless, we are short on time and we have a lot to cover. Can we retreat to one of the classrooms, where I can use the green board?"

Harry just nodded and they both walked quietly to the nearest classroom. When they arrived, Harry sat down on the teacher's desk, resting his feet on the chair, while Greengrass retrieved her wand and lightly traced the word 'WIZENGAMOT' in large letters.

"What do you know about the Wizengamot?" She asked without turning her back, drawing two long lines far apart from each other, dividing the entire board into roughly equal thirds.

"Not much, Greengrass. Assume I'm completely ignorant."

"Should I do so because that is the truth, or because it would be more convenient?" The girl asked, this time turning to Harry and leveling him with a flat stare.

"I know what it does, but that's about it," the boy shrugged indifferently and she shook her head lightly and sighed.

"Alright. The Wizengamot is the most important political body in Magical Britain, and it predates the Ministry of Magic by centuries. The current nation-wide Wizengamot was formed somewhere in the 14th Century, but no one knows exactly when, and it was only really formalized in 1544. Local gatherings of important wizards and witches made for local Wizengamots since before the Norman Invasion. As it stands, the Minister of Magic is somewhat more _imperial_ than usual, shall we say, but that is mostly because the Wizengamot has been in a state of gridlock since the war.

"There are three main factions in the Wizengamot, although each faction has its sub-factions and there's a lot of internal scheming to which I am not privy. They are somewhat informally known as the Dark, Grey, and Light factions, but those are not terms you will hear anywhere near the Wizengamot."

"Why not? They seem to sum up the situation fairly well, no?"

"Do you not think that admitting to being part of the _Dark_ faction in a country that has an almost infantile fear of the more unorthodox parts of magic since Grindelwald would be unwise?" She asked with a vaguely amused expression. Whenever she got serious, all of her sentiments were only expressed in vague ways. Only her eyes and the corners of her mouth would differentiate exasperation from amusement. "Not even Malfoy's money would salvage him if he were to openly support something called Dark so soon after the war."

"Fair point," Harry conceded, before frowning a bit. Noticing his concentration, Daphne merely gazed passively at him, waiting for the question. "I wonder why Voldemort was so open about his styling as a Dark Lord if the aversion to darkness is so wide-spread. It seems like an admission of villainy."

Harry ignored the slight shudder that coursed through Greengrass's body at the mention of Riddle's moniker and merely kept his gaze well-trained on her eyes. He did have his suspicions, shared by Salazar, that Voldemort was attempting to make himself into the most odious enemy possible before tearing down the current system and replacing it with one more agreeable to him as Tom Riddle. Still, it was just conjecture, and not by any means a statement of fact, and getting different opinions on the man might make the section on Riddle in his book larger than the one paragraph that Harry had managed to include so far.

"That is a question that a lot of people have asked quietly since the end of the war," she said, seemingly pleased with the question. "My father has told me that You-Know-Who embraced his reputation as a Dark Lord because he was too arrogant to deny his recognition as a Magical Lord."

"Magical Lord?"

"I thought you knew," Greengrass said, surprised. "When we first met I referred to Dumbledore as a Light Lord and you seem to understand the term."

"I understood it by context, but I didn't know it was special."

"It is, particularly when it comes to being a Light Lord. It is a somewhat derisive term, I don't imagine the people you normally talk to would use it," she admitted absently before turning to face him fully. "A Magical Lord is someone whose magical prowess is so high that the person gets situated somewhat above the law. Light Lords are few and far between both because they are reluctant to act beyond the law as it goes against the usual tenets of the Light faction, and because an outstanding magical is rarely truly Light."

"I can see why," Harry said, contemplating what he had heard from Salazar during the last weeks of the Hogwarts term. "To become an overwhelmingly powerful wizard you'd need to at least flirt with the more destructive side of magic."

"Yes," Greengrass nodded pleasantly, "not only that, but you need the drive to become truly powerful, not just inert magical power, and it is difficult to find the will to become powerful when you adhere to the Light because it is the faction that prizes adherence to order more than any other. Why become powerful when being faithful to order does not demand it?"

"You say that the Light faction wants to be orderly, and I get that, but they are also the ones that wish to include magical creatures and Muggle-born most of all. Isn't that somewhat incoherent?"

"Well, that is a complicated issue," she said with a slight grimace. Her tongue escaped the corner of her mouth as she thought for a moment. "I think that at least I need to introduce you to the main players before we can get into that problem."

"Alright then. We can circle back letter," Harry conceded.

"Good. Let's focus on our topic of conversation and deal with the Light side first. As you probably already suspect, the largest faction within the Light is led by Dumbledore, who serves as Chief Warlock. Because of his position, he can't introduce bills, but he does have a vote. Normally he uses Elphias Doge in his capacity as Special Advisor to the Wizengamot to introduce laws he wants to be passed through. His faction stands for a lot of the stereotypes of the Light in the past, at least outwardly. If you pay attention to his voting history, you'll see that a lot of what he supposedly supports never has the unanimous vote of his faction.

"My father has calculated that if Dumbledore truly wanted the Muggle-borns to be more welcomed at the Ministry or if he wanted more freedom for magical creatures, he could have introduced friendlier laws whenever he held the largest faction, or at least he could have used his numbers to halt the more egregious bills. But he hasn't. Ultimately, the man stands for stability and safety before everything else."

Harry nodded. It made sense, even if applied to his specific situation. Putting him in an abusive home was justified to Dumbledore because of the blood protections he had enacted on Privet Drive, but it was not only probably against the wishes of his parents, but also showed adherence to safety over freedom, a tradeoff in which Harry was firmly in the latter camp and Dumbledore in the former.

"So he directs his followers to vote in a way that ensures his image as the protector of the weak is maintained while shifting the blame to the faceless void of the Wizengamot as a whole, despite the fact he has led it for decades now," Harry added pensively.

"You do catch on quickly," Daphne said with a smirk.

"I am just overly cautious when it comes to the Headmaster," Harry denied while shooking his head. He was cleverer with words and schemes than people suspected, but at best his political instincts were dormant.

"That alone makes you brighter than most, Potter," the girl responded softly. "Particularly when you didn't grow up with parents to advice you to be suspicious around the man."

Harry just hummed noncommittally and signaled for her to continue. No need to reveal his reasons to question the man if she was similarly minded, after all. She very quietly cleared her throat before continuing.

"There are two other factions in the Light side, both of which often cooperate. One is led by Augusta Longbottom and Griselda Marchbanks, both older than Dumbledore and both representing a more traditionally Light approach. Moralistic but lawful, advocating for a strong Department of Magical Law Enforcement, or DMLE, and tight regulations on magical education. The third faction is led by the current Head of the DMLE, Amelia Bones, and somewhat more distantly by Tiberius Ogden. She agrees with much of what the second faction says but is far more reticent to cordon off branches of magic to the public and defends the use of lethal force by her Aurors when necessary, putting her in direct confront with Dumbledore's stun-only approach."

"Any relation between Augusta Longbottom and Amelia Bones and Neville and Susan?" Harry asked, recognizing both surnames.

"Augusta is Neville's grandmother and Amelia is Susan's aunt, and they both act as regents for their family's seats in the Wizengamot. Amelia has two votes as Head of DMLE and Regent of the House of Bones."

Harry hummed. "We should name the factions so we don't get confused."

"Luckily for you, there's already a nomenclature for the internal factions of all three main groups of the Wizengamot. Dumbledore's faction is called by the other groups as the _Conservationists,_ not to be confused with the Dark side's _Conservatives_. We'll get to them later," she added with a slight wave of her hand. "Longbottom's faction is called the _Originalists_ and-"

"The _Originalists_?" Harry scoffed, "What kind of name is that?"

"Oh, it's a barely concealed insult about both women's ages," she explained cheerfully before smirking, "they caught unto it and embraced it fully."

"Unbelievable," Harry muttered under his breath. He guessed he shouldn't be surprised that wizards had such awful names for political factions when they named their Seventh-Year tests as the N _astily Exhausting Wizarding Tests_.

"Regardless, Bones' faction is called the _Boneyard,_ amusingly enough, not only because her family manor is called the Ossuary, but because none of her proposals pass through the legislative sessions. On the trials, though, that woman is a demon. Unless the Minister desperately wants a trial to go one way, it is very hard for it not to follow Bones' judgment. She is very well respected as the Head of the DMLE, just not so much as Regent Bones. Too foolhardy and lawful for politics."

Harry noted that name very carefully. He'd need to speak with this Amelia Bones woman about Sirius when he gathered enough evidence to exonerate him.

"Okay, I can see the differences between the factions. I had no idea that the Wizengamot was so splintered," Harry said after thinking for a minute.

"Factionalism in any political body is normal," she said, before grimacing slightly again. Harry imagined that her displeasure with the Wizengamot must be enormous if she kept grimacing whenever she started reflecting on it. "But historically the Wizengamot hasn't broken up into fixed and warring factions. People flowed from voting bloc to voting bloc depending on the outstanding issue and didn't keep within fixed alliances for _all_ bills. The lack of mobility of the recent Wizengamot is how the Minister gets away with giving an Order of Merlin for himself for mediocre work."

Her last sentence was said heatedly, and her indignation seemed entirely justified. Riddle must have had a much easier time rising to power if the Wizengamot was semi-permanently on lockdown over every single issue, and Dumbledore would have a much easier time maintaining a careful _status quo_ if no votes were ever passed quickly.

"There are few wizards that still sit on the Wizengamot from before it became a stagnant mess. Granted, it was never this progressive bastion of hope for the Wizarding World, but things at least got done," she said frustrated before assuming her normal relaxed and self-assured posture. "Sorry for the rant, Potter. The Wizengamot annoys me profoundly."

"I wouldn't respect you if it didn't."

"Thank you," Daphne said, genuinely pleased. Respect is far more valuable a commodity than likeability. "Anyway, let's go to the Dark faction. Unlike the Light side, which does call itself the Light collectively, the catch-all term for the Dark is the _Traditionalists_. The _Conservatives_ that I mentioned earlier represent the second largest group, led by the Nott family. They mostly defend the rights of the Noble families and vouch for a weaker Ministry in general, with the vision that the only laws that the Ministry should enact fiercely be related with the Statute of Secrecy."

"So, not murder?" Harry asked, slightly bewildered.

"There is an ancient tradition that is no longer followed widely of honor duels and a noble's right to judge life and death," she shrugged. "Nott's vision is reactionary to the extreme, but he masks it under the visage of defending family's rights. Because many older Noble families have something in the way of a family grimoire, a lot of exemptions from the usual rules are made to accommodate them."

"Is there such a thing as family magic?" Harry asked curiously. If there were family-restricted spells protected by law, policing criminal acts committed by Noble families would be virtually impossible if the criminal were not an idiot.

"Not exactly," Daphne responded after thinking, "it's not like if I use a spell from the Nott Grimoire, I'll spontaneously combust or anything. Family developed spells are protected secrets by their families, but they can be reverse-engineered or shared with friends or allies. My family has made a lot of innovations with Herbology and Potions in the past, hence our somewhat pastoral name. There is a thing such as family affinities, however. Some families have a talent for Parselmouths, like the Gaunts, or Metamorphmagi, like the Blacks. Those are much rarer, however.

"Back to the Wizengamot," she said firmly, but not before Harry made a note to ask Sirius about Metamorphmagi and the Gaunt family. "The largest faction in the Dark is Malfoy's, unsurprisingly. It's called the _Supremacists_ for rather obvious reasons. Blood supremacy is not exclusive to that faction, Nott was a Death Eater as well, but it is strongest there. The faction is something of an umbrella. It has every sort of supremacist, from the 'exterminate all the Muggle-born' variety, like McNair and the Carrows, to the 'obliviate the Muggle-born parents and raise their children like Purebloods' group, like Yaxley, to the 'Muggle-born and Half-bloods should be servents', like Malfoy himself. They are not that open about their opinions, but you can read between the lines and see their intentions. It's not like extermination can be openly decried as a policy in the Wizengamot, but McNair comes damn close to it."

Harry remembered the satisfaction with which McNair was planning on killing Buckbeak, and found that he had no problems whatsoever in imagining the man showing the same sadistic pleasure in killing a Muggle-born.

"Finally, there's the _Neutrals_ or the Grey. This is where my family goes, as you have surely already gathered. The stance of the Grey is a lot harder to gauge than all the other factions, and my father acts as a figurehead of sorts to negotiate with the two larger factions, but because the Grey is the smaller of the three main groups, the seats associated with the group function a lot like the Wizengamot itself did in the old days, fluctuating for each bill, with the Greengrass seat acting as a semi-reliable barometer for the group as a whole."

"So, basically, the Grey stand for nothing," Harry said, defiantly staring at Greengrass. She startled somewhat angrily before soothing her posture and Harry realized she had done the same thing with the angry father earlier that day and he continued before she could try to distract him with her platitudes. "Come off it, Greengrass. I'm not an idiot, I'm not trying to insult your father. But maybe you should ponder the fact that the reason the Neutral faction is not larger than it is today is that it stands for nothing the other members can cling to?"

She startled again, but not angrily this time. She took a deep breath and said in a wavering voice. "There are extenuating circumstances that distract my father from investing more time in the Wizengamot."

Harry would normally argue the point, but something about the way her voice had wavered warned him that this was a delicate situation. Her confident gaze was now planted firmly on the green board and she had turned her back on him, but the way that she was shaking slightly made her distress clear. Harry controlled the urge to go and hug her, reminding himself that this was not Hermione and that barely two months ago he wouldn't voluntarily initiate a hug with anyone, let alone someone he had just met, but he still went to the girl and lightly touched her shoulder. She flinched at the touch but relaxed after a second, without turning back to face him.

"Daphne, let's drop the fact that we are future Wizengamot members plotting to rule the world," he started softly, smiling slightly when the girl snorted tearily, "this seems very personal to you, so we don't have to talk about it right now, but if you need to talk I promise I won't use it against you."

They were silent for a while as the girl used her sleeves to dry her face before she figured she was sufficiently dignified to face the boy. Her eyes were slightly puffy, but she otherwise looked as proper as ever.

"I'm sorry, Harry," she said, as he noticed this was the first time outside of lectures that she had called him that to his face, "it's a family thing. I'll tell you more one day, but not now. I don't know you well enough for this, but I do hope that I will eventually."

Harry smiled kindly and nodded before turning back to take his seat.

"So, let's skip the Neutral faction for a bit and go back to the topic we were into before we started this conversation. Magical Lords?"

"Right," she nodded, "as I said, Light Lords are unusual because of the Light's general reticence to break with the established convention to push themselves further than the norm, but they're not unprecedented. Dumbledore is by far the more prominent one, though. Not to mention his sincere belief that he stands above the law."

"They are all silly things for him, laws and respect for other peoples' opinions," Harry grumbled, making Daphne smirk.

"Right you are, Potter," she said cheerfully. "It is practically a Greengrass tradition to grumble about Dumbledore once a month."

"Am I family now, Greengrass?" Harry mocked her with a smirk, which she responded with her own.

"Is that excitement I hear in your voice?"

Harry rolled his eyes. Daphne sniggered.

"Anyway, Dark Lords are far more common," she mentioned off-handedly, "both legitimate ones and not so legitimate ones."

"What would make for a not legitimate Dark Lord?"

"Well, Magical Lords are not a thing per se. They're just acknowledged as such by the public or the Ministry."

"As opposed to the naturally ordained and perfectly fair Wizengamot Lords, right?" Harry deadpanned. Daphne just glared at him until he smirked, at which point she just rolled her eyes.

"The point is that because Magical Lords are an appointed phenomenon, the Ministry has often labeled revolutionaries or even aggressive reformers as Dark Wizards, even when their methods were more in light with the Grey or occasionally even the Light."

Harry nodded, thinking about the Ministry's attitude to Hagrid being accused of being the Heir of Slytherin and being thrown in jail without a trial, same as Sirius. "I can see them doing that to get rid of an inconvenience."

"Particularly given how the Minister is so much more powerful than historically, all it would take is a campaign on the Daily Prophet against any aspiring reformers and you get a Dark Wizard. If the magical is sufficiently powerful, you get a Dark Lord."

Harry grimaced, thinking that his path to being a proclaimed Dark Lord just got a lot likelier. There was no way he wouldn't be advocating reform, and both Flitwick and Salazar treated him like a budding magical powerhouse.

"The rarest kind of Magical Lord is a Grey Lord," Greengrass said, turning back to the green board and staring at its mostly empty Neutral portion. "It is so hard to toe the line between Dark and Grey Lords, and almost with no exceptions, Grey Lords have been acknowledged as such only because they fought against bonafide Dark Lords, at least recently. Before the Ministry was established in 1707, Grey Lords and the Grey, in general, were more common. People are enamored with dichotomies, so they filled themselves in the camp of Good against Evil, whichever way they think Evil or Good fit in the battle of Dark and Light," she said sadly, again glancing at the small list of families under the Grey banner, "they don't realize that the world is so much bigger than their romantic notions of battling evil and that they miss so much about magic and the world when they're so entrenched in their positions."

Harry was silent through her ramblings. Admittedly, it had struck a chord with him. The young Slytherin was very passionate about her father's legacy as the leader of the Grey, albeit also conflicted about the way it was currently represented. He had also sympathized with her family's plight as it stood against both the other factions in the Wizengamot. He was also surrounded by Riddle and Dumbledore, the true leaders of the Dark and Light respectively. Maybe that was what explained the extraordinarily quick rapport that he had established with Daphne. They were more or less natural allies.

After making some brief calculations to appease his Slytherin side, he let out his inner Gryffindor to play.

"Daphne, you do realize that we are going to be the leaders of the Grey faction eventually, right?" He asked her after stepping forward to stand by her side.

"Are you already pledging your support to the Grey, Potter?" She asked with raised eyebrows.

"I think we both know I'm not exactly in the Light faction, Greengrass," he said, pointing at Dumbledore's name on the board. "And I'm sure as hell not going to bow down to a group of Death Eaters."

She nodded. It did make sense that the boy's natural inclination was towards the Grey. "You don't have a hereditary seat on the Wizengamot, Potter, and if you openly ally yourself with the Grey, you'll never get your family elevated to Noble status."

Harry hesitated a bit at this point, making Daphne frown. "Are you this confident that you are going to get the Potter's into a hereditary seat?"

"Not exactly," he said hesitatingly. He did have some measure of trust in Greengrass, but not nearly enough to even hint anything about Sirius until the Black House affairs were finalized, "the same way you have your family situation to deal with, I have some standing issues with another House."

"So that's why you have that mountain of documents in your room," she said, nodding slightly as she looked at nowhere in particular. When she finally turned to face him again, she was frowning slightly. "And what do you mean, standing issues? Like a marriage contract?"

"No, thank Merlin for that," he shuddered dramatically. The notion of a marriage contract was just beyond him.

"That wouldn't make sense either, it would only possibly grant a hereditary seat to one of your children," she said, again looking at nowhere in particular, murmuring something for herself beneath her breath that Harry could not understand. When she suddenly stiffened, Harry had a feeling of great dread wash over him. "Potter, are you the Heir for another family?"

He couldn't stop himself from flinching a bit at how easily he had given away such valuable information to the girl. He should have known better than to treat Greengrass like he treated Hermione, who while enormously intelligent, had no instinct for deception.

"Potter, do you have any idea how rare being the Head of two Houses actually is?" She hissed, leaning forward into him and making him put his hands up defensively. "How on Morgana have you managed to keep that connection a secret? And speaking of it, what _is_ that connection? I don't recall the Potters having any relation to a Wizengamot House."

"Not getting that one out of me yet, Greengrass," he shook his head. Knowing she had done the same, she just sighed and nodded before turning to the board.

"Well, assuming you are getting a hereditary seat on the Wizengamot, getting leadership for the Grey shouldn't be too hard between the two of us. Cygnus Greengrass is very respected by almost everyone as a kingmaker for bills because he carries the votes that often unfreeze a locked vote," she said as she lightly passed her hand through her forehead, "I can inherit that influence, and you are Harry Potter."

In the past, that statement would have made him angry, but Salazar had convinced him that not embracing his position as the Boy-Who-Lived would have been unproductive.

"And is that what you want, Greengrass? Being the kingmaker?" Harry asked.

The girl said nothing before sighing. "It's complicated, Potter."

"How come?"

"Being the kingmaker has given my father the best position to try and solve our family problem. He leverages political support for access to family libraries and bespoke help," she admitted before looking sadly at Harry, "if I inherit my father's seat before he manages to solve this issue, I'll have no choice but to continue to look for a solution in whatever way I can."

Harry nodded before speaking softly. "It must a very important thing for both of you."

"It's the most important thing in the world for me," she murmured.

Harry suspected it was a family member if it was so important to father and daughter, but figured it would not do him well to try and guess it, lest he offends the witch. Given that he had no family and was not well acquainted with the Magical World yet, he had no idea what kinds of things can befall a family member that would require the attention of an entire House.

Again, Harry put a supportive hand on her shoulder, and this time Greengrass just turned to him and smiled sadly.

"Let's assume the issue gets solved," Harry said, trying to distract her from her thoughts, "what would you rather do in the Wizengamot?"

Daphne was silent for a long time. "I am not entirely sure," she admitted finally, "I never really conceived of a world after we found a way to fix our situation, to be honest. I have this vague ambition of turning the Grey into a respectable faction again, but no idea of how to go about it. What you said earlier about how the Grey is shrinking because they have no outstanding mission has been said to me before, but I don't have a unifying vision for the group."

"Well, I see a way of doing it," Harry said, pointing at the board, "I think most people think of the Neutral faction as little more than a buffer zone between Dark and Light and the only way to disabuse them of that notion is to remind them that the political options are not drawn in a line with Dark on one end and Light on the other, but in the form of a triangle."

"I agree," Greengrass said after barely having to think, "but finding a message that can summarize and differentiate us from the other two factions is the challenge."

"I did notice something that was missing from your summary of the sub-factions in Wizengamot," he said, making the girl rise a single eyebrow questioningly, "there are no _Progressive_ factions."

"And what would a progressive faction look like, Potter? Integralism with the Muggles would not work," she said skeptically.

"Trust me, I am well aware of that. For me, what you said about the Dark is that they are more or less all about family legacy and bloodlines in one way or the other. And at least on paper, if not on the voting roll, the Light stands with the notion of equality for all. There is no large group standing on the side of meritocracy, is there? There is no celebration of ability above all else."

She flinched a bit, "I happen to agree with your stance, but it has been made a lot less popular because Grindelwald used to say 'Blood matters, but ability matters more'. It's stupid to dismiss a good idea because a Dark Lord agreed with it, but it's the way of things."

"In that case, we just have to be creative with our wording," Harry shrugged, "I know very little about Grindelwald, but both of us are good at deflection to some degree, and I imagine your father might be even better. We can figure something out, but a society based on merit seems a lot better than what either of the other factions is offering. Plus, it's not just window dressing, I do believe that there is no such thing as Light and Dark magic, which by itself creates an enormous separation between us and the Light."

"And the focus on merit instead of legacy separates us from the Dark," she said pensively, to Harry's joy. Daphne always caught on quickly.

After a moment of contemplation, she looked at him.

"Potter, what would you say to a meeting with my father?"


	14. Natural Pivot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: The books referenced in this chapter are The Fundamentals of Ethics by Russ Shafer Landau and the Lionel Guiles' English Translation of The Art of War by Sun-Tzu.

**C** **hapter Fourteen - Natural Pivot**

* * *

It was by mutual agreement that a meeting with Cygnus Greengrass was postponed until Harry had a larger grasp on the proper behavior around a Lord, but he relented and agreed to at least try to meet the man by the end of the summer.

Returning to his small room after Daphne had left, Harry pondered that whatever he thought this summer would be, it hadn't followed his expectations. The liberation from the Trace that being under the wards in the building should have made him relish the opportunity to relentlessly practice new spells, but so far he had barely used his wand. Mostly he spent his time reading or writing, and by now had become far more intimate with the jargon of Gringotts missives than he would have anticipated.

He realized that the opportunity to inherit the Black family was a big deal, and thus merited the effort and attention he had given to reading every letter Sirius or Gringotts had sent him, but maybe he was overdoing it a bit. Looking at the pile of unchecked documents that he left untouched since his conversation with Daphne, Harry once more retrieved the Ethics book he had spent most of the last days eyeing nervously and collapsed into the pouf.

"Might as well do this," he said to himself before opening the book and activating his quill.

" _You are an animal. I'm not trying to insult you. Just stating a fact. I am an animal, too. And so is everyone else we know. The basic needs of animals-food, water, security, companionship, freedom from pain-are the basic needs of human beings. All humans, like every other animal, share the same fundamental plight: certain one day to die, and vulnerable to harm in the meantime. Perhaps the key to morality lies in understanding our place in the natural order of things. Many have thought so._ "

Harry pondered the statement for a moment. He wasn't sure if he agreed with the sentiment. He saw nothing inherently beautiful with the _natural_ way of things, and perhaps this was the magically-fluent side of his brain speaking, but he had the powers to manipulate the world around him as he wished, to the betterment of himself and others. Why should he surrender that power in the name of fitting into the natural order of things? Isn't escaping from the base difficulties of life why Muggles developed technology and why wizards are so enamored with Magic?

Nevertheless, he kept reading.

" _That is the guiding thought of the natural law theory. By its lights, good human beings are those who fulfill their true nature; bad human beings are those who don't. The moral law is the natural law-the law that requires us to act in accordance with our nature_."

That meaning of _natural_ was a bit more cohesive to Harry's worldview. Acting as you naturally would, being true to yourself, sounds like a wise way to live your life. But then again, it is not a way to build a society, is it? While the Muggle world is not as filled with idiosyncracies or so enveloped in cocoons of undecipherable traditions and customs as the Wizarding World, it is also filled with the comings and goings of polite company and manners that restrict what people truly wished to say. The Dursley's were a very proper family in the absence of Harry, and abusive in his presence. The world is filled with tiny little lies that we tell each other and ourselves so that we all live more comfortably.

But Harry admitted that he did not know whether or not this was a part of society he enjoyed or not. Deep down he was frustrated when he had to retain part of himself back, which was a big reason why he had enjoyed Salazar's portrait so much, and to a lesser extent, why he had connected so quickly with Greengrass. Both had brought a side of his personality he had rarely exercised when surrounded by only Gryffindors.

" _According to this theory, human nature can serve as the objective standard of morality. We do right when our acts express human nature, and do wrong when they violate it. Since individuals and entire societies can be mistaken about what our true nature is, they can be badly off target about what morality asks of us. Although many natural law theorists are theists, who claim that our nature was given to us by God, that is not an essential element of the theory. What is crucial is that human nature is meant to serve as the ultimate moral standard. If this theory is correct, then so long as there is such a thing as human nature, there is an objective source of morality._ "

This was something Harry was substantially less conflicted about. He had more or less decided on his own that he did not believe that any system of morality whose value is external and objective should be followed. Moreover, the existence of an absolute nature that permeates all humans was doubtful, at best. People were too different to be guided by one unifying principle. It just seemed stupid to believe that every single person that he knew was deliberately going against this constant 'human nature' to be as different as they were.

" _There are many skeptical arguments that try to undermine hopes for moral wisdom. Here is a perennial favorite, a variation on an argument developed by the brilliant Scottish philosopher David Hume (1711-1776). Let's call this Hume's Argument, in his honor:_

_1\. We can know only two sorts of claims: conceptual truths or empirical truths._

_2\. Moral claims are neither conceptual truths nor empirical truths._

_3\. Therefore, we can have no moral knowledge._

_A conceptual truth is one that can be known just by understanding it. Here are some conceptual truths: No sphere is a cube; all integers are even or odd; bachelors are unmarried males; if A is taller than B, and B is taller than C, then A is taller than C. You can close your eyes to the world, just think about these claims, and know that they are true. Empirical truths are not like this. They are known only by relying on evidence from our five senses. Here are some empirical truths: I live in a house that was built in 1915; it was raining in London on June 25, 2007; the Pacific Ocean is larger than the Atlantic; David Hume never married."_

The different concepts of truth made Harry's head hurt a bit, as it always did whenever the book shifted from morality to direct philosophy, not that there was a large distance between the two things. Philosophy just seemed so much more grandiose than the way the book referenced morality. Morality could be explained adequately by simplified analogies or mental exercises that Harry could do with only the slightest hesitation, but philosophy only seemed comfortable in big words and verbose monologues.

He was already regretting picking up the book again but made a note to read more on David Hume when he could. Salazar could help him tackle philosophy later.

 _"Why aren't moral claims conceptual truths? Because for any moral claim, we can completely understand it and still wonder whether it is true. Why aren't moral claims empirical truths? Because we don't discover them by means of our senses. No amount of scientific probing into the world will reveal any moral features in it. If you witness a murder or a broken promise, you will notice many things. But you can't see its_ wrongness _."_

The argument was a bit murky for Harry, but he attributed it more to his lack of intellectual aptitude for questioning abstract things than to the idea itself. The thought that you couldn't objectively perceive immorality was appealing, however. It meant that morality comes from within and not from the outside and that it cannot be discerned in absolute terms. That was something he knew he already agreed with. Also, the sentiment about how scientific probing wouldn't help him discover a moral truth came with some relief. In honesty, Harry had wondered more than once if he simply was not intelligent enough to understand morality and decide what he believed in.

_"In principle, we can use scientific methods to discover what is innately human, and so solve Hume's challenge to gaining moral knowledge. If Jean-Jacques Rousseau (1712-1778) was right, we are innately angelic. Before society corrupts us, our noble nature shines through. We are by nature pleasant, cooperative, and considerate. If our nature holds the key to morality, then morality is largely as we think it is. It requires us to be kind, cooperative, and attentive to the needs of others. That would be a comfort. But what if Thomas Hobbes (1588-1679) had it right? He thought that we are innately selfish, competitive, and distrustful. We are born that way and, for the most part, stay that way. If the natural is the innate, and if we are required to act on our true nature, then the Hobbesian view is going to force us to abandon many of our conventional ethical beliefs."_

Harry knew that he wasn't intellectually gifted enough to convincingly scoff at the two notions written in the book, but he admitted that both ideas didn't sit well with him at all. Inherent goodness or inherent badness just seemed like a piss-poor debate about trying to find something that unites every person. To Harry, the only unifying thing he could find for every person was Death. Nothing else.

Beyond that, the notion that people were innately something disagreed with him on multiple fronts. Other than his now firm discomfort with the notion of being guided by an external factor that cannot be debated, as the concept of Human Nature with capitals letters ought to be, he knew that people changed with the circumstances around him. Whatever he was before the Dursley's were put into his life was forever changed by the name he reached Hogwarts, and he refused to accept that the experience hadn't changed something deep within him. Or more importantly, that he would still be himself if he hadn't been an orphan. Nothing would ever be able to convince him that he would be inherently the same if he had been raised by Lily and James than in this world in which he was raised by Petunia and Vernon.

" _Moral laws are just natural laws, though ones that regulate human beings, rather than planets, molecules, or gravitational forces. But as we have seen, it is difficult to try to read off recommendations for how we ought to act from descriptions of how nature operates. And that shouldn't be too surprising. Natural laws describe and predict how things will behave. They summarize the actual behavior of things, and, unless they are statistical laws (of the sort that assign a probability to outcomes, rather than a certainty), they cannot be broken. Moral laws are different in every respect. They can be broken, and often are. They are not meant to describe how we behave, but rather to serve as ideals that we ought to aim for."_

Harry agreed and closed the chapter with a newfound sense of satisfaction. It always felt good whenever he managed to go through a chapter of the book, even when, in cases like today, he had felt a bit overwhelmed by the logic. Still, the further he got into the book, the more the thought nibbled into his head that he would never find what he truly believed in, that he wasn't intelligent enough to be anything more than a man of action. That he was forever burdened to be simply a tin soldier in Dumbledore's army, or just target practice for Riddle's Death Eaters.

He got back to his Gringotts documents, but the fear remained.

* * *

The following day, Harry realized that he was feeling awfully tense. He hadn't slept well and after waking up early his body simply refused to go back to a peaceful slumber. Not seeing the point of going back to sleep, he slowly got out of bed and felt a pang of hunger course through him.

There wasn't a kitchen in the building, but Harry had taken some food before leaving Privet Drive and settled for eating a collection of biscuits and fruits instead of going for breakfast at the Leaky Cauldron. The adjacent common room did have a kettle for tea, though, and so he relaxed whilst sipping on the hot beverage in one of the armchairs. He realized that walking around Diagon Alley as Harry Potter would tip Dumbledore off that he hadn't gone on a trip with Dursley's, so he had to get used to the idea of using the glamour, but he felt uncomfortable not in his skin. It reminded him too much of the Polyjuice incident of Second Year. He cringed slightly at the memory.

For now, he would keep to the building. It was still early so he wasn't expecting any visiting firsties. He would have to find a way to release his tenseness inside.

As he walked around the rooms thinking about what to do, he passed by the large undecorated room with five training dummies that he had commissioned for testing spells. After remembering that he had yet to use his magic in more than occasional bursts during his stay under the wards, he shrugged and squared off against the closest dummy.

Harry had realized that after his conversations with Salazar, he had begun to feel a deeper grasp on his raw magic. It was disconcerting, facing the potential of things that would yet materialize into this or that spell, like facing an endless void. He wondered if everyone else also felt this connection to their magic, or whether it was just him. Maybe it was a power thing?

After not using magic for such a long time other than casting his Patronus, he was itching to use it in spades. He grinned slightly, pulled out his wand, and then...

Nothing.

Harry froze. If he was honest with himself, he wanted to blow up the dummy beyond recognition, but he didn't know how to do it. His will to enact a powerful blow on the thing was so large that even he noticed how his magic swirling around him. He thought about casting a _Diffindo_ but then hesitated.

"Is going in blindly the best way to go about your magical training, child?" He could hear Salazar's voice ring inside his head.

Cursing the portrait loudly, he grumbled. "This would be much better if I could just be reckless and impulsive like always, but _noooo_ , you have to find a portrait that insists on making you _think_ before you do things, don't you Harry?"

"And now I'm talking to myself," he complained, laughing somewhat manically, "brilliant. Just brilliant, Potter."

He could feel the pull of his magic to just cast the damn Severing Charm and be done with it, but his mind kept going to Salazar's reluctance to teach him magic so far. Slytherin had said it was because he was already beyond his expected level given his age, but would the world wait for him to reach his adulthood? Given his life so far, he wasn't optimistic.

Flitwick said he was closer to a Seventh Year in magical power. Then shouldn't he be ready to learn at least some more destructive spells?

Still, he couldn't bring himself to cast a spell without thinking about it first. He was tremendously annoyed at Salazar for bringing about this hesitation on him even without the Founder being present, but yet he remained rooted for the longest time thinking on what to do.

"What would be a good compromise?" He wondered to himself. "What would Salazar approve of in this scenario?"

Having a weird idea, he jogged to his room and got _The Art of War_ out of his bookshelf. It was an odd thought, but the book was full of tactical tips to be used in a battle, so maybe he could bring the book's contents from the big picture to an individual duel?

Some of it was already more or less easy to do, he mused. The very beginning of the book talks about how war is a matter of life or death. Taking that lesson into the realm of an individual conflict wasn't hard.

"No mercy," Harry mumbled, remembering how Pettigrew had escaped. His grip on the book tightened and he sat down heavily to see if he could learn something before casting away.

Admittedly, his attention was a bit off, so it took a while for him to read instead of simply glancing at the words, but the fourth passage did call his attention.

" _These are: (1) The Moral Law; (2) Heaven; (3) Earth; (4) The Commander; (5) Method and discipline_ ". He blinked in confusion. In honesty, he had only really paid attention to the phrase because he was still hung up on his musings about ethics and morality the previous day. He glanced upwards and read the third passage more attentively.

" _The art of war, then, is governed by five constant factors, to be taken into account in one's deliberations, when seeking to determine the conditions obtaining in the field_." Harry smiled. This exercise might not be pointless after all.

 _"The Moral Law causes the people to be in complete accord with their ruler so that they will follow him regardless of their lives, undismayed by any danger"._ Harry stopped to consider the point. Maybe that was why Salazar was insisting so far that he develop a sense of right and wrong by himself. Having something to fight for and something to strive for might give him an advantage over someone who is not fighting for anything in particular.

" _Heaven signifies night and day, cold and heat, times and seasons. Earth comprises distances, great and small; danger and security; open ground and narrow passes; the chances of life and death_." These points were easier to consider on an individual level. The terrain could play a big part in a fight, he thought. If he was in an open room like this one, he would fight differently than in a Hogwarts corridor. Harry frowned. Developing a strategy for battle in different environments instead of just relying on a single strategy might be better.

" _The Commander stands for the virtues of wisdom, sincerely, benevolence, courage, and strictness. By method and discipline are to be understood the marshaling of the army in its proper subdivisions, the graduations of rank among the officers, the maintenance of roads by which supplies may reach the army, and the control of military expenditure."_ These last two confused him greatly. He couldn't see a way that they could be shrunk into an individual scale but decided to keep reading to see what else he could absorb.

As he read more and more passages, he noticed that while some of them seemed too directed at the specific context of a large-scale battle to be applicable, some of them might be tremendously useful on a duel. There was something to be learned from " _All warfare is based on deception_."

But he also noticed that there was advice there that would be much more useful in his life at Hogwarts in general if he wanted to slowly form a support base. " _If he is taking his ease, give him no rest. If his forces are united, separate them_ " sounded like a good way to deal with Malfoy's gang. " _Attack him where he is unprepared, appear where you are not expected_ " sounded equally useful against Dumbledore if one day he would have to truly fight a battle of wills inside the school with the Headmaster.

Harry was about to read the second chapter of the book when a voice snapped him out of it.

"That is a rather unorthodox place to be reading, don't you think, Harry?"

"Professor Flitwick? What are you doing here so early?"

"I told you to call me Filius when we are alone," the Professor squeaked genially, waddling about to stand next to the still sitting Harry. "Between my title and my surname, I am liable to forget my first name, seeing as so few people use it."

"Sorry, Filius," Harry chuckled, "it's just a bit weird to be calling you that. But seriously, why are you here so early?"

"I was passing by Gringotts first thing in the morning to deal with some personal business and thought about coming here to see if you were here and if you needed anything before going back," he admitted, before glancing at the book in Harry's hands. "What are you reading there?"

Harry wordlessly passed him _The Art of War._

"Ah yes, I know this book," he mentioned softly.

"Really?" Harry asked surprised. "I didn't expect you to know, given that it is an old Muggle book."

"Goblins like to read some Muggle literature occasionally," Flitwick explained without moving his eyes from the now open book.

"I didn't know that either," Harry admitted. "I thought goblins would be.. ergh, less than friendly to Muggles."

"Most goblins dislike Muggles on the simple basis that they hold far too many of the world's minerals to their liking," the professor admitted with a grin before looking at Harry fully. "But you will find that true excellence rarely respects the boundaries of common prejudice. A good example would be Dumbledore. The man is hated beyond measure by every single Dark Wizard in the world, but they all deeply respect his magical prowess. And if I may leave my humility at the door, I am a similar example. Despite being a half-goblin, not even Lucius Malfoy would try to release me from Hogwarts because he knows how good I am."

Harry didn't have much to add so he simply hummed, but he had never noticed before how Draco Malfoy hadn't bothered himself with antagonizing Flitwick for his heritage but had gone out of his way to castigate Hagrid for his.

"Why are you reading this book, Harry?"

"I thought it might give me some ideas as to how to fight better," he said quickly, before looking speculatively at Flitwick, "actually, since you're here already, would you mind teaching me some things?"

"Not at all," the half-goblin shrugged. "Get up and we'll start with some simple things."

"Alright then," Harry said, getting up to his feet and facing the Professor directly, "what do you suggest?"

"Assume a stance as if you are attacking the dummy, please," he replied in an oddly firm voice. Harry raised his eyebrows at the coldness of his voice, but nodded and held his wand in a comfortable position and looked nervously at Flitwick.

"No," he goblin clucked his tongue. "Not good enough, and I'll show you why."

He walked calmly to just in front of the dummy, and faster than Harry could track, whipped out his wand and cast a spell without uttering a word. Harry's eyes widened at how sudden the attack happened, and he barely had time to throw himself at the ground to avoid it.

"What the hell?" Harry asked angrily, glaring at the goblin, who already had his wand trained on him as he was defenseless on the ground.

"Do you know why your stance was incorrect?" He asked calmly.

"Because I wasn't prepared for a sneak attack?" Harry asked heatedly, getting himself up and walking back to his initial position.

"I wasn't aware that your enemies would politely reveal their presence to you," Flitwick retorted easily, with a raised eyebrow. Harry conceded with a grunt. "The reason why your stance was wrong is that you were flatfooted and squared off. Not only having both feet aligned sideways makes you a far easier target, but it also stops you from easily dodging from spells, particularly when you're flatfooted."

"Okay," Harry nodded, "how should I position myself?"

"A stance is a deeply personal thing, Harry. Most powerful wizards have a small selection of signature spells they use with great effect in addition to a sequence of more circumstantial spells, and to each situation, they vary their footwork, however, most do have a default position," he mentioned, before scratching his chin in thought, "in fact, the only wizard I know who succeeds with a squared stance would be Dumbledore, but that is only because his expertise is in Transfiguration and he can more easily conjure physical barriers to spells than he can dodge them."

"Can you show me a good default position, at least?" Harry asked hopefully.

"Of course," Flitwick nodded. "First thing, make your stance diagonal. You don't want to have a vertical stance, even though it minimizes the space in which you can be attacked because it also limits your horizontal mobility. As you are right-handed, you want to put your right foot forward, but only slightly. Assuming a wide stance, which is when you separate your feet to form one large triangular support for your body, is good for physical combat, but not so much for its magical counterpart, particularly if you tend to grip your wand lightly, as you do. It's important to keep your back foot slightly elevated in case you need to make a brisk movement. Got it?"

"I think so," Harry said, whilst making the adjustments. Flitwick corrected him once or twice until he thought Harry had a reasonable balance and finally nodded satisfied.

"Alright. The first thing you are going to want to do is to use your foot as a pivot. What I mean by that is that instead of throwing yourself to the ground and making yourself an easy target, you should plant your right foot on the ground using your toes and twist your leg around it. You'll notice that when you do that, your body will naturally want to turn in conjunction with your right foot."

Harry followed his instructions slowly and he did notice that as soon as he turned his right foot sufficiently, the muscles in his back and his left knee started to ache. When he twisted, his body relaxed again as it found a comfortable position.

"Okay, but now I'm in a vertical position again, I can't move."

"Correct," Flitwick squeaked animatedly, for the first time in the discussion resembling his usually cheery self. "Which is why you will not stay in that position for long. The sequential move is to twist your left foot and then turn your body back. If you do this, you'll see that you are in the same position as in the beginning, but reversed, with your left foot forwards. The moment where you are twisting your body back is a good moment to cast back, or if you think the position is too tight, you can just stay in your twisted position and step forwards and use that step into your default position to cast your spell."

Harry tried the move a couple of times until he groaned.

"This is difficult," he grumbled as he failed to find a natural position to twist his body back from his pivot and almost stumbled to the ground.

"Of course it is," Filius agreed easily, "there's a reason why dueling is respected as a sport in the Wizarding World. It's hard, and a lot more effort goes into things like stances and using the space around you to your advantage than people assume. I said yesterday that you are as magically powerful as a Sixth or Seventh Year, but if you were fighting a trained Seventh Year you would be easily defeated in a duel, even if they were magically weaker than you."

"Because I know fewer spells?" Harry asked, remembering his frustration at not knowing what to cast earlier that morning.

"That would certainly not help, but no. Simple magic used creatively can overcome complex magic used simply. But in fairness, it is on Fourth-Year where you begin to learn spells that can be better used in a combat situation," he waved his hand airily before continuing. "But that is not the reason. The reason is simply lack of experience. By the time you reach the Seventh Year, you have had enough feedback from impromptu duels or just spellcasting in general to innately develop an individual style. You are at the very beginning of that process. For all your adventures in Hogwarts, my understanding is that beyond the Patronus, you haven't succeeded because of your magical prowess, but because of your determination."

Harry pondered the challenges he had faced during the last three years and had to reluctantly agree. He hadn't used as much magic to solve his issues as he'd expect, particularly considering he was in a magical school. He nodded slowly, making Flitwick smile softly at him.

"What do you recommend, Filius?"

"Well, when I'm here, we can train you on your stance. We can make you dodge and counteract more fluidly and from different positions, starting from this default situation we have discussed today, and then evolving into different scenarios. But I won't be here all the time," the half-goblin finished pointedly. "Using _The Art of War_ or other such books, you can develop your theory of engagement with which you can choose your favorite spells."

"Theory of engagement?" Harry asked. This whole conversation with Flitwick was nothing if not humbling, he thought.

"A theory of engagement is how you prefer to approach conflict," the Professor explained gently. "As a general point, you always want to impose your style of fighting on an opponent. For example, You-Know-Who generally operated under a premise of casting overpowered fatal curses in a constant stream instead of resorting to shields or even to faster but less deadly spells. Minerva prefers to fight by using Battle Transfiguration, creating multiple objects to support her as she casts curses and shields. As I mentioned previously, Dumbledore prefers to assume a stationary stance and conjure physical obstacles to curses coming his way and attack frontally."

"I see," Harry nodded, but not having any idea of how he would approach that question. Shouldn't he learn magic first to know his affinities before settling on a preference? Or maybe settling on a preference would help him learn more magic? This was confusing. "Do you mind showing me your theory of engagement?"

Flitwick stared at Harry searchingly but finally tilted his head in acquiescence. "My basic idea is that all conflict is based on space. You want to minimize the space your opponent can use and pin him down in a single point while occupying the most useful space as possible," he explained before smirking, "in the dueling circuit, I used to sometimes send curses slightly to the left or the right of my opponents so they were pushed against one side of the piste or force them to use their shields."

Harry laughed a bit. He could understand that theory slightly better. He could at least begin with that principle. It wouldn't work against someone like Riddle but with someone of equal magical power to Harry, stopping them from moving properly could help.

"Alright then," Flitwick said with a clap and a wicked grin, whipping out his wand. "Let's begin."

Harry gulped and assumed his position.


	15. Whipped into Shape

**C** **hapter Fifteen - Whipped into Shape**

* * *

The next week passed quickly for Harry.

Flitwick seemingly enjoyed putting the young wizard through the wringer whenever he could, and while Harry had yet to get an intuitive grasp on the slick movements the half-goblin had taught him, he could now hope to dodge some spells from the Ravenclaw. That first day of tutoring, he had ended up with barely any successful dodges and a body full of marks from stinging hexes.

The lectures were going well too. The students seemingly enjoyed learning more, and it was not unusual for Harry to be approached by a student looking for more individual tutoring on his off days. Daphne's lectures were confusing the children, but they seem to enjoy the woman herself. A couple of them seemed very enthusiastic about the idea of role-playing a wizard in their society and had brought a table-top game to play after lectures, starting a club of sorts with half of the ten Muggle-born.

The busy routine had stopped him from going out in his glamour to acquire a snake familiar, and he was itching to go to Knockturn Alley and collect some spellbooks, but he decided that today after lectures was as good a time as any. Passing through Gringotts to get an update on the basilisk vault was also on the docket for the day's activities.

Harry was sitting on in his favorite armchair in the common room languidly perusing through the day's lecture plans. His mind was going frequently to the portrait hanging on the Chamber, wondering if his actions so far would please the Founder. Harry recognized that as far as his actions went, it was not only the desire for freedom or a sense of ambitions that guided him. He also wanted to make the old man proud.

It was also a bit odd how random moments with Salazar popped into his head at times. _Cash is king_ came to mind. Maybe it was his subconscious telling him something?

His thought process was cut off by an animated greeting from the door.

"Harry!" Hermione said, walking quickly in his direction with a wide smile. As soon as Harry smiled back and got up to greet her, she engulfed him in a tight hug. He noticed that Hermione smelled differently that day, sweeter, with a hint of pineapple and cinnamon. She had also dressed casually in a pair of jeans and a white v-neck shirt and looked much different from the Gryffindor bookworm he was accustomed to.

"Hermione, you look great!" Harry said, sincerely. The girl seemed much happier recently. Teaching had done wonders to her mood, and being treated with reverence by the younger students had quelled a lot of her self-doubt, making her stand taller and more confident than before.

She blushed slightly and smiled widely. Harry was slightly confused by her reaction but didn't say anything. Maybe she wasn't used to being complimented on her appearance?

"You got here early today," he said to spare her from further embarrassment.

"I woke up earlier than usual and didn't have anything to do," she said not meeting his eye. Harry suppressed a frown at the obvious lie, but couldn't think of something his best friend would do and not tell him. Well, no matter, if it was important, she would bring it up eventually. "What are you reading?"

"Oh, I'm just looking into today's lectures."

"Shouldn't you have done that before, Harry?" She chided slightly. Harry chuckled. There's the usual Hermione.

"Don't worry, I'm just reviewing. I read yours and Greengrass's plans on today's classes yesterday morning."

"You know, you really should plan too, Harry," she said with a slight frown, "or you're going to get lost at some point."

"Well, the students like my style of doing things," he said defensively.

"Of course they do, you teach them practical magic," she responded with a roll of her eyes, "you could teach them nothing but paint spells and they would be delighted."

"I help you two with theory too," he pointed out.

"You are the best student in DADA, it's expected," she said, without any envy. Harry was happy that his best friend did not begrudge him for trying harder for the final month of last year, and was as proud of his improvement as he was. He didn't expect her to treat him poorly for being successful, but it paid off to be cautious. "It's also annoying how good Greengrass is at Potions," she said, this time not bothering to hide her distaste.

Harry sighed softly. Hermione may not want to kill the Slytherin as before, but the gleam on her eyes whenever she mentioned Greengrass was nothing short of malevolent. They interacted politely, and while Daphne was completely unaffected by Hermione's behavior, Harry could see that his best friend had to make a conscious effort not to blow up in her face half the time. Wizarding Culture lectures were always tense between the two witches, and Harry had started to sit next to Hermione to put his hand on the girl's arm whenever she looked ready to explode. It worked wonders to calm her, but it annoyed him that he had to spend half of a useful lecture with his mind elsewhere.

"She did say that her family had a background on Potions," he said softly.

"I don't remember that," she said with a frown, biting her lower lip to try and kickstart the memory.

"She said it to me in private," Harry murmured, turning his attention back to the stack of papers as he sat down again in his armchair. He did not see how Hermione flinched at the idea of him and Daphne speaking alone.

Daphne had talked with him in private on multiple occasions the past week, either to brief him on more about the Wizengamot, to discuss recent news, or just to chat. She was pleasant company, and Harry knew she thought the same about him. Their conversations still lulled in between their shared sarcasm and bluntness, and their joint conspiracies about the Wizengamot factions amused him. They were absently contemplating whether it would be possible to drag the _Boneyard_ into their side when they ascended to their seats, but behind their more or less fictional plans, there was always the mysterious obstacle that restricted Cygnus Greengrass's movements and would do the same with Daphne in the future. If for no other reason than to acquire information on whatever that thing was, Harry was looking forward to his conversation with the man by the end of August. His grasp on Wizarding customs was still well below the acceptable, but it was improving rapidly. With a bit of luck, he would not come across as disrespectful to the man.

Hermione sat down by his side with a low huff and attentively read her plans for the day. The next hour passed by in relative silence, except for Hermione's occasional touches of his arm to point out something she thought was interesting in her plans, as if he wasn't reading the same document. He indulged her because she seemed happy, but her officiousness did annoy him a bit.

When he was contemplating just giving up on his review to grab the Black family papers he had to bring to Gringotts later that day, Greengrass entered the room and gently glided to their side, sitting elegantly on the other side of Harry.

"Potter, Granger," she acknowledged with a nod each.

"Greengrass," the two Gryffindors replied concurrently, one firmly and coldly and the other with a slight smile.

The Slytherin retrieved a book from her bag and once more got out her trusted shrunken box and passed her fingers through it adoringly before setting it on her lap and opening her book. Harry had noticed the box several times during the past few days and was curious about its contents, but chose not to bother the witch about it.

Hermione did not share his conspicuousness.

"What is in that box?" She asked, craning her neck out from behind Harry to see it properly.

"A family heirloom," Greengrass responded without glancing away from her book.

"And why do you carry it with you?"

"Because I like it, as I'm sure you can tell," the other woman responded cooly.

"Is it magical?"

"I'm from an old magical family," Greengrass responded, closing her book this time and turning to face the curious witch. "What do you think?"

"I'm just asking," Hermione defended herself weakly, more embarrassed by the stupid question than by any perceived faux pas.

"Clearly," Greengrass drawled, before pointing to the documents in Hermione's hands. "Shouldn't you be reviewing your lectures, Granger?"

"Shouldn't you be reviewing your own?" Hermione asked with narrowed eyes.

"I'm perfectly capable of remembering what I'm planning for the day, Granger," Daphne responded easily, raising an eyebrow in defiance. "I do not put my faith in cramming."

Seeing that Hermione had taken great offense to the insult on her planning skills, Harry clapped to end the discussion, startling Hermione out of her incoming tirade and making Daphne turn her defiant eyebrow in his direction. "That's enough. The students will be arriving soon," Harry said, pointing at the clock. They had ten minutes left. "Shouldn't Flitwick be here already?"

"Professor Flitwick, Harry," Hermione corrected absently. Harry turned an annoyed stare in her direction. "What? It's his title. Plus, how should we know where he is?"

"She's got a point, Potter. Maybe he's not coming today."

"We don't have a Potions practical today, right?" Harry asked, reviewing the schedule for the day.

"No," Greengrass said immediately, picking up the schedule from her bag. "Today is DADA, Potions theory, Herbology theory, and Wizarding Customs. Granger, do you want Herbology or Potions?"

"I'll take Herbology," she said begrudgingly after a moment's hesitation before grumbling. "I'm not as good as you in Potions theory. Professor Snape doesn't teach it and the books are all written like recipe books."

Daphne looked at the witch with the slightest hint of surprise at her admission but nodded diplomatically. Harry was similarly surprised, but more so at how Hermione had criticized Snape than anything else. Hopefully, her distrust of someone in an authority position would eventually extend to a healthy skepticism of authority in general, but he doubted it. He guessed it was more to do with having someone to blame for how she was outmatched by Greengrass on Potions.

Harry had eventually convinced Hermione that Daphne was much too intelligent to leave her only teaching Wizarding Customs, and the Slytherin was now teaching one or two normal lectures per week, normally whichever she decided to teach. So far, she had decided to encroach only on Hermione's lectures, something that seemed to have been lost on the other witch, but had not escaped Harry's notice.

"Well, I'm going to the classroom to prepare for the incoming students. Are you coming or not?" Harry said as he sat up. Daphne wordlessly followed him, but Hermione stayed put, saying she preferred to review her Herbology lectures.

They both walked in silence to the classroom, and Daphne sat in the corner of the room closest to the teacher's desk. Harry glanced at her sideways.

"Am I about to be graded on my performance, Greengrass?"

"You're always being graded, Potter," she responded easily.

"And how have my grades been so far?" He asked curiously, not doubting the girl's capacity to be grading him constantly in the slightest.

"You're salvageable," she said haughtily, with a slight grin.

"Forgive me if I don't believe that," he scoffed. "You're not exactly Salvation Army material, Greengrass."

"Salvation Army?"

"Muggle thing," he explained with a small shrug. "I'm sure you could have guessed that from context."

"Your grades just went down slightly, Potter," she informed him with a slight grimace.

"For mentioning a Muggle thing?" He asked disbelievingly.

"No, for mentioning a Muggle thing to a Pureblood that clearly wouldn't know what it was," she deadpanned.

"Isn't your family connected with Muggles?"

"Potter, my family does business with Muggles," she said tilting her head slightly to the side. "I can tell you about the FTSE, technology, or fashion, but I'm not an expert."

"Fair point," he conceded, spying with the corner of his eye as the first student arrived. With a slight nod of his head, he directed Daphne's attention to the new arrival and she acquiesced to end their conversation that moment.

"Welcome, Miss Tessier," Harry said politely. The girl has insisted on being addressed by her surname after being fascinated by her first Wizarding Culture lectures, being one of a few students to demand it.

"Professor Potter, Professor Greengrass," she said with a respectful bow.

"If you don't want to call me Harry, Miss Tessier, call me Mr. Potter," he said with a slight smile, "I'm not a Professor."

"In this context, you are our Professor, so it would be wrong to call you otherwise," she said, before taking a moment to focus on nothing at all. Daphne had told him that the girl did that instead of closing her eyes to concentrate, so he merely waited for her to continue. "Outside this classroom and in informal conversation, I see no issue in calling you Harry or just Potter."

"She's not wrong there, _Professor_ Potter," Greengrass interjected amusedly.

"You're just enjoying that she's taking so quickly to your lectures," Harry said with a flat stare.

"No, I also enjoy your discomfort," she said with a shining smile. "But Miss Tessier is a joy to teach."

The student beamed in delight at the compliment from the Slytherin, who Harry strongly suspected was her favorite tutor. Harry just rolled his eyes and waited for the other students to arrive. As they did, they all showered him with a variety of different greetings, and he noticed that the more formal they got, the more amused Greengrass seemed in her corner.

"Right, welcome all," he greeted with a happy smile when they all sat down. "Today, we'll divide the lecture in half to first teach you some basic things, and then we'll go to learn two new but very similar spells."

The students started whispering excitedly at the prospect but calmed down after a few seconds. Harry got up from his chair and walked around the desk to support himself lightly on it. He had discovered that he was more comfortable teaching the children whenever he was standing.

"First off, I'd like to call attention to your first lecture, after Hermione gave Richard the Invigorating Draught and he cast that very strong _Lumos_. Do you remember how you felt?" He asked, gesturing at the young wizard.

"Yeah," he nodded, "I felt really tired. I couldn't concentrate and it was like my body got too heavy."

"You have probably figured out by now, but that reaction occurred because you used too much magic too quickly," Harry said gently, looking at the boy, before turning to the class at large. "At Hogwarts, particularly in DADA, the order in which you learn things is somewhat murky. Because of some reason, for the last three decades, every single DADA professor has managed to teach for only a single year. That makes for very disjointed teaching. I'll be telling you why I'm going to teach you what I'm going to teach you now before we learn the new spells.

"DADA, unlike many other subjects, has to be taught with the understanding that the content of the lectures may save your life one day. Because of that, we need to be wary of magical exhaustion of the kind that Richard experienced. So we begin with simple spells that might help you survive. In the last two lectures, I introduced you to some common creatures you may encounter in Magical Britain at large."

"Are there any dangerous creatures at the school?" One of the shy students asked nervously.

"Not if you're careful, Mr. Stafford," Harry responded with a smile. "If you listen to the advice of the teachers and the older students, you should be fine."

"And don't worry, Stafford, if any dangerous creatures are roaming about, Harry is too enamored with his heroic persona not to save you," Greengrass said with a smirk directed at Harry.

"Anyway," Harry continued after glaring at the smirking witch in the corner. "Hogwarts is generally safe so long as you stay inside the castle. There have been occasions in the last three years where we've had issues with creatures, but those were beyond exceptional, and nothing that first years would concern themselves with."

Harry said that shooting an apologetic look at Dennis Creevey, who knew about his older brother's petrification in his First Year. Hogwarts was unpredictable and he didn't want to lie to the younger students, but after a Cerberus, a Basilisk, and the Dementors, he didn't know what else could enter the castle this coming year.

"Today I'll be covering something you will be encountering in Hogwarts: a spirit. Specifically, a ghost."

"Are there other kinds of spirits?" A girl in the back asked with a raised hand.

"Yes, Miss Aziz," Harry nodded, having read up on the subject while studying the Patronus. "Dementors and Boggarts are both considered non-being spirits, while Ghosts and Banshees are considered spirits. Unlike the other three that I mentioned, Ghosts are more or less harmless. The ones you will see on Hogwarts certainly are."

"Well, there's Peeves," Greengrass pointed out.

"Technically, Peeves is not a ghost, but a poltergeist," Harry responded, glancing at the girl. "A poltergeist is an embodiment of chaos, that springs out from the concept of chaotic energy. They can also interact fully with physical objects, unlike ghosts. You'll most likely be a victim of one of his pranks in your first year at the school. They are put into the same category as a Dementor, being non-beings, while ghosts are derived from a human or animal that has put their souls to roam a specific place after their deaths."

"You can't deny that Binns is evil, Potter," Daphne smirked.

"Ah yes, the terror of boredom-induced naps," Harry drawled before turning to the students. "Hermione did not say tell you this because she doesn't want to discourage you, but Professor Binns, the teacher for History of Magic, is a ghost who may bore you to death."

"Really? But History of Magic is so interesting," Thomas said with a sad expression. Harry could tell that there were some dissenting opinions amongst the students, but it was much better than the unanimous distaste for Binns.

"I suggest you use History of Magic lectures to do your homework for other subjects and study it on your own time," Greengrass mentioned from her corner.

"That's good advice," Harry nodded. "Back to the ghosts now. Each Hogwarts House has its ghost. Gryffindor has Nearly-Headless Nick. And before you can ask, yes, he is not quite decapitated. From my talks with him, he was a Royal Wizard before the Statute of Secrecy and was executed by an indiscretion at the court of Henry VII."

"That sounds painful," someone winced.

"Believe it or not, he is incredibly resentful of the fact that he isn't fully headless," Harry said with an amused tone, barely containing his chuckles at the disbelief on their faces. "He wants to be a member of the Headless Hunt."

"Is that why he's so resentful?" Greengrass asked with a mild amount of surprise. "I thought it was just because we were Slytherin."

"That may not help," Harry agreed with a tilt of his head, before turning to the students, "but yeah, he wants to be part of a club in which ghosts play headless games," at this point, he smirked. "No matter how much Daphne tells you about how the Wizarding World is wondrous and cultured, you can always rely on Hermione and me to remind you that they're all barmy."

The students laughed for a bit before Harry returned to his lecture.

"The Hufflepuff ghost is quite amenable in general. We call him the Fat Friar. I don't much about him, but you'll see that he's quite friendly to everyone and will help you find your way around the school if he sees that you're lost. The Ravenclaw ghost is called the Grey Lady. Not much is known about her, but it's speculated on _Hogwarts: A History_ that she's the daughter of Rowena Ravenclaw," he said, mentally thanking Hermione for lending him the book. "She's quite withdrawn and mostly doesn't interact with anyone. What is known is that as a human, she was killed by the Slytherin House ghost. Daphne?"

"The Bloody Baron is our house's ghost," Greengrass pointed out, not bothering to get up from her chair, but taking care to sit more properly when addressing the students. "As the name entails, he is covered in blood from unspecified injuries and has contained himself with chains as self-punishment for killing the Ravenclaw ghost. He refuses to speak about his life and is very hot-tempered. However, he treats the students overall with courtesy, if not respect, and is just about the only thing that can contain Peeves. Get on his good side if you can."

"Right. There are other ghosts around, like the captain of the Headless Hunt, but they mostly don't appear other than in Halloween or in other important Feasts," Harry continued. "Does anyone have any questions about ghosts?"

When no one did, Harry clapped and instructed all of them to retrieve their wands and stand up.

"We will learn two basic spells that are variations of the same basic spell. These spells are the most basic form of self-defense you are going to learn. They both have quite simple effects: shooting sparks of red and green color, respectively."

"How is shooting sparks meant to protect us?" Creevey asked near Harry.

"Often, you cannot defeat the thing in front of you and need to distract it or call for help while you run away or hide. I have used these spells to that effect on my First Year and they're more useful than you think," Harry responded.

"Why learn to send green and red sparks if the only thing that changes is the color?" Asked Aaliyah Aziz.

"Excellent question, Miss Aziz," Harry answered with a smile. "There are two reasons. One of them is for you to understand that spells can be modified in the slightest of ways by your intent. You'll see that the wand movements for both spells are very similar, as is their incantation, but you still get two different results. Modifying your spells in slight ways without specific instruction is something you won't be able to do for a long time, but knowing it is possible is always useful. The second reason is that you may decide with a friend or professor that one color means something and the other means another. For instance, red means danger, green means safe."

When Aaliyah nodded, Harry cleared his throat and wrote the incantation for both spells on the board behind him.

"The first spelling is for the Red Sparks Charm. We call it _Vermillious_ , with the focus on the second syllable. Repeat it with me: _vur-MILL-ee-us._ "

After some repetitions where Harry had to gently correct Madeleine for her habit of stressing the R with her throat, he repeated the exercise with the incantation for the Green Sparks Charm, _Verdimillious_ , pronounced _vur-duh-MILL-ee-us_ , until he was satisfied.

"You may have noticed that the incantations are similar. The wand movement is exactly mirrored. Watch me as I do first the Red Sparks movement and then the Green Sparks movement," he instructed before executing both movements. Murmuring the incantation for the Red Sparks Charm, he moved his wand in a downwards diagonal left to right before briefly flicking it leftwards and down, watching as pale Red Sparks surged from his wand. Likewise, he did the mirror movement and watched as Green Sparks appeared.

After the students seemingly memorized both movements, Harry directed them to try the spell and be careful to visualize only a small spark appearing from their wands. He was careful to observe Madeleine, having noticed that the girl was always the first to get a new spell, but spent several minutes spaced out looking at nowhere. By now used to the young girl's odd way of concentrating, the other students didn't pay her any attention. Harry noticed that Daphne was similarly glancing at Madeleine, so decided to keep an eye on the other students.

When Harry noticed that Greengrass was leaning forwards in her seat, he turned to look at Madeleine and witnessed the tail end of her zoning out as her eyes turned back into their original color before she softly pronounced _Vermillious_. A soft lone red spark shot up from her wand, making the other students turn to look at it in reverence. Meanwhile, the girl that successfully cast the spell was frowning slightly and looking oddly at her wand, probably because it was not what she visualized. Realizing that, he approached the girl gently and squatted to her height.

"You imagined the spell differently than it turned out, right?" He said softly.

"Yes," she responded with the same soft frown. Harry realized, same as Daphne, that the girl's eyes were startling. "I imagined more sparks coming out."

Harry smiled softly at how the girl's slight French accent picked up when she got a bit upset and pointed out in a soft voice. "The problem isn't with your visualization, but with the amount of power you channeled into the spell. Do you remember how your magic coursed through your body when you cast?" When the girl nodded minutely, he continued. "Focus on that feeling, but make it slightly more pronounced."

After zoning out for about a minute, during which other students managed to produce some weak sparks, Madeleine softly incanted _Vermillious_ again and this time a group of bright sparks short into the air, forcing Harry to advert his gaze for a second.

"Congratulations, Miss Tessier," he said with a small smile as the girl beamed back happily at him.

As the other students began to reliably cast the Red Sparks Charm, Harry asked them to switch to the Green Sparks Charm. "You will notice that the magic will flow through your body in a slightly different way. When you get used to the spell, you don't have to think about it very often, but I suggest you pay attention to these slight differences in the first times you cast new spells."

The following minutes were a repetition of the previous attempts at pulling the Red Sparks Charm. Harry noticed with satisfaction that Madeleine didn't underpower her casting as in the first attempt, but noted that she was looking a bit winded. He asked her to rest for the rest of the lecture and kept an eye to see if any other students were similarly affected. Having already bled a couple of minutes into the Potions lecture, he used the overall exhaustion from some of the other students to end it with instructions to try both spells whenever they could swing by the building.

As the students marched to the Potions Laboratory, Greengrass approached him.

"Are you coming to the Potions lecture, Potter?"

"No, I have some things to do," he denied, already tracing his steps through Knockturn and Diagon Alley. Maybe he should go to Gringotts first, even if it was out of the way.

"Are you sure?" She smirked with the slightest hint of playful malice. "You do need to endear yourself to Professor Snape."

"Please," Harry scoffed, "the only thing that would make him like me is if I killed myself in front of him."

"Harry," Daphne called softly when he turned to leave, "you're a good teacher. The students are lucky to have you."

Harry smiled happily, feeling proud at the recognition. "They're very lucky to have you too, Daphne."

They smiled at each other for a moment before Harry said a hasty goodbye and went to his room to activate his glamour and change into the same robes he got from Gringotts.

When he finally left, Daphne exhaled loudly and looked at the door with a vague sense of longing. "Oh Granger, you're a fool," she muttered to herself.

* * *

Walking through the halls of Gringotts, Harry was happy that Griphook recognized the glamour quickly, and they were both soon in a separate room for their discussion.

"Mr. Potter, how can I help you?" The goblin finally asked as the door closed behind them.

"I want an update on the status of my vault."

"Ah, the famed basilisk vault," the goblin said lightly as he wrote a note to request an overview of the vault's status. "We have invested its contents very judiciously."

"Don't you mean injected them?" Harry asked amusedly.

"It's not my fault that humans can't appreciate basilisk meat," the goblin smirked.

"Yes, sweet meat with hints of pain and death sounds delightful," Harry drawled.

Before Griphook could answer, the door opened and a smaller goblin put some reports on the table before bowing to Griphook and leaving quietly.

"Here you go, Mr. Potter," the goblin said after verifying the numbers on the document.

Harry glanced absently on the final transactions before reaching the last line with the overall balance. He blinked at the number. More than half of the original content of the vault was spent refurbishing the building he was using as his home currently and with the various expenses of the previous two months, and that was with the goblins having invested it well.

He tried to remember if any of his lectures with Salazar would help him here, but the only money-related lecture he could remember was _Cash is King_ , and his instincts were telling him that goblins were not the kind to use financial bonds to lend money to wizards. Cursing the nonsensical nature of the lecture - or at the very least not knowing enough to apply it in this scenario - he turned to the goblin after thinking something that gave him a slight surge of hope.

"Are there any parts of the basilisk that you haven't sold yet?"

"Yes, the fangs and some of the carcass. It took a long time to de-poison the fangs, and even now they have some residual poison on it. Not enough to kill someone in an instant, but sufficient to hurt them significantly," the goblin finished with a vicious smile.

Harry nodded absently, focusing on the document in front of him. His biggest expenses were out of the day, but he needed a source of income that didn't include killing gigantic snakes.

"How much for each fang individually?"

"About a thousand galleons in current market prices. Many Potions Master and collectors noticed by the influx of basilisk parts in the market that a basilisk was killed recently and have bid above-average prices to get a good part of the beast in the beginning, but by now the frenzy is over."

"Offer and demand then," Harry said absently, still not glancing up from the paper.

"I did not know you were familiar with economics, Mr. Potter," Griphook said with a hint of surprise.

"I'm not an expert, but I've read a bit," Harry admitted with a soft voice. Griphook nodded and Harry kept reading the bank statement in silence. He had an idea, but it would sacrifice a source of revenue and cost him some money. However, it would add to his image in a good way. If the news that a basilisk was slain got out from the goods flooding the market, identifying himself as the slayer of the beast would earn him some needed respect outside the castle for when he graduated.

'Would did Salazar say?' Harry thought. 'Grandiosity is to be shown to other people?'

"Griphook, how much to fashion a basilisk fang into a dagger with a safe holster?" Harry asked, staring firmly at the goblin, who grinned at the suggestion, pleased with being tasked with blacksmithing.

"Three thousand galleons for both items to be made at the level of quality compatible with the beast you've slain."

Harry knew what the goblin was doing. Making the dagger with the visual quality compatible with a basilisk allowed him to seriously overprice it. Three thousand galleons wasn't enough to seriously make a dent on the vault, but it established a concerning trend of spending money without a compensating source of revenue.

'I need to find a way to make money, but right now I have investments on myself to make,' he thought resolutely.

"How long to make it?"

"It would normally take a long amount of time, but given that it is a great honor to work with a basilisk, I estimate a week only. If there is some delay, we will offer you an appropriate discount and you will be informed by post owl."

"Do it," Harry said firmly with a nod.

"Do you have any preferences about the design?" Griphook asked after handing Harry a document to allow for the retrieval of three thousand galleons from his vault.

"I want it to be clear that the blade is from basilisk fang, so retain its natural shape," Harry said, mentally conjuring an image of an appropriate dagger. He daydreamed about his dagger being as famous as Gryffindor's Sword and blinked slightly in shock. There was no way he would think that before meeting Salazar. He had changed a lot very quickly. That gave him an idea about the design. "The hilt can be fashioned to look serpentine."

"Very well, Mr. Potter," the goblin said with a delighted smile, "working with the basilisk is a great opportunity. Gringotts appreciates it."

Harry left the bank with his chin raised.

* * *

The Magical Menagerie was closer to Gringotts than Knockturn Alley, but Harry preferred to leave his snake familiar last. Walking to Knockturn was a comfortable experience in this glamour, much better than the usual suspicious or opportunistic glances he got from walking down the dark alley as Harry Potter.

There weren't many bookshops on Knockturn Alley, with almost all of them located on Diagon Alley. However, the books available on Diagon Alley would mostly focus on Light magic, of the sort he was already learning in Hogwarts. He needed at least an introductory dip into deadlier spells if he got into trouble the years before he graduated from Hogwarts, something he was certain would happen. As much as Flitwick's advice that creative uses of magic could overcome more powerful spells, one could always use powerful spells creatively to get the best of both approaches. Other than the Knockback Jinx and the Severing Charm, there weren't many offensive spells he could use reliably.

Harry entered Borgin and Burkes, remembering his unexpected visit two years prior. The haughty look of the glamour he wore made Borgin smile in the same smarmy way he had smiled at Lucius Malfoy that day, and Harry had to suppress a smirk.

"You are new here," the man said leaning forwards and rubbing his hands greedily, doubtlessly thinking about using the unfamiliarity of the man to bump up his prices. "What can I interest you in, Mr...?"

"My name is irrelevant, Borgin."

"Yet, you have me at a disadvantage. You seem to know my name," the man said now somewhat warily.

"It is on the storefront," Harry drawled.

"I could still have been Burke."

"I have had my associates buy things from here before," Harry explained airily, schooling an unimpressed expression on his face.

"Not even Lucius Malfoy sends someone here on his behalf," Borgin said in now open defiance, eyeing him with a narrowed gaze. "How do I know you're not an Auror?"

Harry laughed harshly, making the man flinch slightly, before forcing his magic to swirl around him as he walked calmly to face Borgin closely. Forcing himself to face the man despite his horridly warm breath, Harry focused and said in Parseltongue. " _How can you be sure indeed?_ "

The man blinked quickly at the Parseltongue and looked distinctively uncomfortable. "Right," he said slowly, almost stammering out the first word before forcing himself to say in an unwavering but still weak voice. "Not an Auror."

"I dare say I'm not, Mr. Borgin."

"Well then, how can I help you?" The man said much more respectfully, but with a greedy glint in his eye.

"Books," Harry said simply.

"We don't sell books," Borgin said quickly. Harry just raised an eyebrow and stared the man down. He conceded after giving him a brief glare and gruffed while gesturing Harry to follow him to a backdoor.

The room in the back was small, but the number of books there was satisfactory, but there were holes in the shelves in some places. Harry threw the man an inquisitive look.

"Last summer, a bloke bought all my copies of _Magick Moste Evile_ and _Secrets of the Darkest Art_ , and I haven't found any other copies," the man explained.

Last summer was after he had killed the basilisk. Remembering how Malfoy played a role in putting that diary with odd powers into Ginny's bag, he made the logic leap.

"Would this _bloke_ be Lucius Malfoy?" Harry asked in his best knowing drawl.

Borgin hesitated for a second before denying, but the hesitation spoke volumes and both of them knew it. So, whatever it was, Malfoy had bought the books to stop them from being acquired even in the dark confines of Knockturn Alley. It probably had to do with the diary itself, the secrets of which Harry hadn't deciphered yet and that Salazar said he couldn't explore beyond wild speculation without having witnessed it.

Harry left the man to his denials and perused the shelves. Some books sounded useful, but buying them would raise an alarm that he wasn't serious about buying forbidden books. Some of them he even recognized from Diagon Alley. Specifically, he picked up _Curses and Counter-Curses_ , the same book Hagrid had forbidden him from purchasing back before First Year and he noticed how Borgin eyed him oddly.

To compensate, Harry went to what he figured seemed like the darker section of the books in display and picked up _An Unspeakable's Guide to the Dark Arts_ by Augustus Rookwood, who he knew to be a convicted Death Eater from researching Sirius on Third Year, and _Discourses on Power_ by Emeric the Evil, who he remembered from History of Magic lectures.

With the corner of his eye, he saw a book written by Salazar and picked it up with a frown. It bothered Harry that a book written by his mentor was located in the dark section of a dark store. The way Borgin was looking at him with a hint of fear confirmed his suspicions that the book was written in Parseltongue, and ignoring the fact that whatever the last book was on he could certainly get a better lesson from the portrait on the Chamber, he paid for them all and left the store after carefully depositing them on his bag.

The walk to Magical Menagerie was substantially more subdued, spent on contemplating why Salazar hadn't mentioned authoring any books. It made sense that the man would have done so given his position, but he hadn't bragged about it, which was odd. For all of his good qualities, the man was arrogant and very proud of his legacy. Books were probably the most obvious way for future generations to witness his intelligence, so why hadn't he bragged about it? It's not like Harry couldn't read Parseltongue.

Before he noticed it, he was already entering the store, and after giving a polite nod to the clerk, he walked briskly to the small snake section near the back of a long corridor with lots of crups, kneazles, toads, and other pets.

When he finally reached it, he noticed that all the snakes on the store were eyeing him reverently. From his wandless _Serpensortia_ , he could tell that the more he spoke and cast in Parseltongue, the more readily the snakes he conjured responded to him. Recently, he hadn't even needed to introduce himself as a Parselmouth to the snakes. They seemed to intuitively notice it at this point.

" _Hello, serpents,_ " he greeted serenely, looking at the variety of snakes on the store. There weren't many snakes in the store but to the place's credit, whatever few they had were from diverse species.

" _Hello, young Speaker_ ," a small green snake noted as a highly venomous boomslang spoke for the group as a whole.

" _Why do you wear a magical disguise, Speaker?_ " Asked a larger cobra. The other snakes turned in displeasure at the cobra, presumably for questioning a Parselmouth. Harry noted that the most magical serpents, including the boomslang, did not.

" _If I didn't, I would be recognized, something I do not want_."

" _Are you not proud of who you are, Speaker_ _?_ " Asked the cobra once more, this time receiving the contempt from even the more magical species on the place.

" _It is not about pride, but about precaution_ ," Harry responded firmly, noticing with pleasure that the cobra accepted the answer with a nod as it curled into itself.

" _Is it like the skin we shed?_ " Asked an infant adder much similar to the one he had conjured that day at the Dursley's. He smiled softly at the snake.

" _In a way, I'd say so, young adder_ ," the young snake seemed to puff up at being addressed respectfully by the Parselmouth in the room and drew itself taller, which given its young age, wasn't yet particularly impressive.

" _How can we serve you, Speaker?_ " Asked a larger adder.

" _I require a familiar,_ " Harry said as gently as he could. He expected a lot of noise coming from the snakes as they debated their own merits, but they only silently glanced at one another.

" _To what purpose will you use your familiar, Speaker?_ " Asked the boomslang.

Harry was caught surprised by the question, noting that he hadn't given it much thought. He had figured that his familiar could stay with Basil in the Chamber, but he hadn't given it much thought further than that.

" _I want a serpent to help me cast in our tongue,_ " Harry said with certainty, before passing his hand through his hair lightly in thought. The gesture was completely inappropriate to his current appearance, but he was too far gone in thought to consider that. " _I also want to use it as a spy to gather information for me at Hogwarts Castle_ ", he said after a moment. He couldn't be everywhere in the castle but using a snake under a strong Disillusionment Charm, something he thought he could learn before September, he could get more information, particularly inside Slytherin House. Even if Daphne were efficient at gathering information from the Dark families in that House, the snake could still spy on the staff or in Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff.

The snakes looked at each other for a brief moment before the boomslang slithered forward. " _I believe I am the more appropriate, Speaker. I am magical enough to strengthen your connection with your magic using our tongue, and I am small enough to hide and spy on your enemies. In an emergency, my poison can protect me and others._ "

The other snakes seemed to agree, so Harry nodded softly. " _Do you have a name, noble serpent?_ " Harry asked, knowing from his talks to Salazar that magical snakes had something of an ego.

" _I do not, young Speaker,_ " the boomslang answered after a moment.

" _Do you wish to be called by a name?_ " Harry asked, unsure about snake customs. Salazar named some of his snakes, but not all, and as much as Harry wished to name his familiar, their personalities were different enough that he would be unsurprised if the boomslang wished no name. To his delight, the snake responded with an animated nod. " _I will think of a name for you later, noble serpent_." The boomslang gave him a less enthusiastic nod but still seemed happy to leave the store.

Harry paid, noting with some amusement that the clerk picked up the boomslang with exceeding caution, and his new companion coiled itself in his left arm, putting its tiny head outside his robe sleeves to breathe properly. They didn't talk in the middle of Diagon Alley, but Harry had carefully leaked some of his magic and had felt the magic of the boomslang, something he had been unable to do with any of the snakes he had conjured during the summer.

When they arrived in the building, the snake recognized the Parseltongue magic on the wards and hissed warmly, making Harry chuckle. Harry deactivated the glamour and changed quickly into more comfortable clothing, being careful to dress in a coat to hide the boomslang. He eyed the classroom and noticed that Hermione was teaching the Herbology lecture without Flitwick, and Greengrass was nowhere to be seen. He walked to the large room in which he trained with the half-goblin and retrieved the book written by Rookwood from his bag.

He noticed with detached amusement that the book was written as a guide into the Dark Arts by a specialist that attempted to portray the practice as inadequate. Of course, the man hadn't been known to be a spy when he wrote the book, but in retrospect, maybe it shouldn't come as a surprise. The introduction decried the Dark Arts and warned about their addictive nature, and mentioned that only the strongest willed of wizards could cast it repeatedly without falling prey to their temptation. That seemed like a sentence written to give him an excuse to write the book, but Harry agreed that power could corrupt wizards easily, and the Dark Arts were nothing if not powerful. Luckily, Harry was the young wizard with the strongest willpower he knew, so he only took the advice as a precaution.

Harry also noticed by the index that the spells listed in the book started in the darker side of jinxes and evolved to the Unforgiveables. Curiously, it was the _Cruciatus_ that was listed last and not the Killing Curse. Skipping the jinxes, figuring out that they would be in _Curses and Counter-Curses_ or the _Standard Book of Spells_ , he looked up the first curse.

_"The Whip Charm (Flagello), into itself, is a mixture of the Incarcerous Charm and Seize and Pull Charm (Carpe Retractum). Its advantage over the Incarcerous is the ability to guide the target to a specified direction or to bind the target in a specific way as opposed to the somewhat messy way in which the more traditional Incarcerous inhibits an opponent's movements._

_The true power of the Whip Charm comes from its versatility. Even its basic forms have been used to stop breathing by pressing into an opponent's throat, but the advanced forms of the Whip Charm can be classified properly as curses. The counter to any Whip Charm variation is either a Severing Charm, that does not dispel the conjuration but stops its movement, or, once it has already bound you, by vanishing it either with a raw burst of magic or a wandless Banishing Charm. Specific Whip Charm variations can be countered by its elemental opponent. For instance, the Fire Whip Curse can be countered with a Glacius and the Ice Whip Curse can be countered with an Incendio. Generally speaking, a strong Protego can theoretically stop a Whip, even in its most advanced variations, but it takes an above average amount of magical energy to defend against using a shield._

_The more infamous form of the Whip Charm is the Fire Whip Curse (Flagello Ignis), which can be used to impart great burning pain to an opponent. The fire conjured by the curse is magical and cannot be counteracted by the Flame-Freezing Charm. Other common forms include the Ice Whip Curse (Flagello Glacius), which can be used to impart similarly intense freezing pain to the bound opponent, doing great damage to the muscles, and the Razor Whip Curse (Flagello Cultello), an ancient variation that digs painfully into the skin, hurting the opponent with small knife-like razors that make up this version of the whip._

_However, the Arithmancy of the Flagello Charm, which is remarkably simple, allows for even greater flexibility, making it a popular spell with which young spell creators test their abilities."_

Harry sat down on the floor of the training room, rereading the section on the Whip Charm. It was a somewhat literal interpretation of the space-minimizing strategy that Flitwick used, but it was a good one, particularly if you can use the more advanced version of the charm to hinder an opponent. After repeating the incantation and the wand movements enough times to feel confident, he looked at the closest dummy, aiming carefully to bind the right arm in a diagonal line starting at the left shoulder and coming across the body, he cast with a firm voice.

" _Flagello._ "

The whip forming at the end of his wand was small and elastic, but successfully wrapped around the dummy, but not in the way he had anticipated. "This needs very precise aiming," he commented to himself. This wasn't a bad thing, as he needed to practice his aim regardless, but it did make the charm harder to master. Another thing he noticed was that the whip formed out of the wand in an obvious bit of conjuration, but that it was stuck to the wand itself. Maybe if he managed to master a wandless Severing Charm, he could cut the whip at the end of the wand and either step on it to manage to cast other spells with his wand or could cast a Sticking Charm to fix it to the ground.

He cast the spell again, noting with satisfaction that it formed into a thicker and sturdier whip the next couple of times. His aim was still off after casting it ten times, but he had figured how to differentiate between light and quick whips that could hurt on impact and heavy and sturdy whips that could bound an opponent by imparting the spell with less or more of his magic.

Breathing heavily, he mentally mixed the _Incendio_ and the _Flagello_ spells mentally to picture a Fire Whip, but couldn't cast the spell. After rereading the book, he stopped thinking about the _Incendio_ spell and just imagined a whip on fire emerging from his wand. The whip was conjured but was merely very warm and not fiery. Reviewing the book again, he concluded it was a whip made of fire and not a whip _on_ fire, and imagined fire molding itself into a fire whip in his mind as he cast.

" _Flagello Ignis._ "

He almost dropped his wand in shock as a bright red fire whip burst out from his wand and seared into the magic cloth that surrounded the training dummy. Harry winced, noticing that the fire was hot even as the caster, let alone as the victim. He stopped the flow of magic and noticed it took a while for the dummy to magically restore itself from the flames.

He looked speculatively at the boomslang in his sleeve, wondering how that spell would work in Parseltongue.

" _May I draw on your magic, serpent?_ "

" _You do not have to ask, Master,_ " the snake said quietly, looking dispassionately at the dummy before facing Harry. " _You know how to merge our magic?_ "

" _I have an idea. I won't draw much so I don't exhaust your limits_ ," Harry said gently. The snake nodded slowly and stared the dummy down.

Allowing his magic to form around his body until he found the boomslang, he concentrated it as best he could near the snake and noted as his new familiar allowed his magical energy to flow into the concentrated mass of magic forming nearby. The process was slow and Harry noted that he would have to do it repeatedly to do it quickly enough to be useful in an emergency, but he could feel the intense and distinctive serpentine energy surrounding him, denser and more primal than even the Parseltongue Patronus he had cast on the Chamber.

Somehow incapable of casting the spell in his usual soft voice, Harry heard himself cast in a roaring hiss.

" _FLAGELLO IGNIS!_ "

An enormous cylinder of green roaring flames emerged from his wand and surrounded the target across its body, binding both arms together. The dummy started to melt with the heat of the whip, and Harry felt himself start to sweat profusely from the heat emanating from the spell. The whip was thick but flexible, and Harry couldn't hold his wand firmly, so warm that it got, and was forced to grip it lightly with the tips of his fingers. Surprisingly, he found that he could guide the whip more easily in this position. After a minute of continuously wrapping the dummy in different points with the Parseltongue Fire Whip, he cut off his magic, lest the dummy melt beyond repair. The cost of his conjurations hit him as he was forced to a knee whilst panting in exhaustion as soon as the connection was cut.

Still, he couldn't stop his delighted smile. It might take a long time to conjure it now, and it might take more energy than he could afford in most situations, and it might require his boomslang to cast it as powerfully as he just had, but he had added a lethal attack spell into his repertoire.

He was still smiling when the boomslang warned him. " _Master, someone's at the door_."

He turned feeling an enormous sense of trepidation and was only slightly relieved that it was Daphne staring back at him pale-faced in a mix of fear and amazement, and not Flitwick or Hermione.

"So, Greengrass, do you have any good names for a boomslang?" He asked with a cocky smirk.


	16. Three Events

**C** **hapter Sixteen - Three Events**

* * *

"What the fuck was that, Potter?" Daphne hissed angrily after taking a moment to snap out of her shock. "Are you out of your mind using that type of magic?"

"What do you mean, that type of magic?" Harry asked slowly, narrowing his eyes at the blonde who was storming in his direction.

"Not exactly a Lumos charm you cast right there, was it?" The girl snapped, glaring briefly at Harry before turning to the still burning dummy in the room. "I don't even know what that spell was."

"I thought you were tolerant of Dark Magic?" Harry asked while fiddling with his wand.

"Piss off, Potter," Greengrass responded tiredly. "I don't care if you want to Crucio the damn dummy, but don't deny that whatever that was, it wasn't a regular curse."

"I cast it in Parseltongue," Harry admitted with a sheepish grin.

"Alright, so I can't cast it," Daphne said as she looked to the dummy with a frown. "Well, regardless, you shouldn't cast magic like this alone. A kid could get lost and wander into this room and our efforts would be undermined just like that," she said, snapping her fingers. Turning to face Harry, she continued. "Besides, you really shouldn't be practicing the more dangerous curses without supervision."

"It's not like I can exactly get a tutor for the Dark Arts, you know that," Harry pointed out while arching an eyebrow.

"You don't need a teacher, just supervision. Call me if you want to practice anything potentially illegal and I'll keep an eye on things," Daphne shrugged, "as long as I get to learn as well."

"Ah, so that's the reason."

"It's not the only reason," Greengrass frowned, "I am concerned about the damage you can do to yourself and others if you're unsupervised."

"Alright, whatever," Harry nodded, not believing the girl but not seeing the point of fighting her off either.

"What's that about a boomslang anyway?"

"Oh right, I got a boomslang earlier today to help with my Parseltongue," Harry said excitedly, showing off the small snake to the girl, who hesitantly stroked the animal after being reassured she had received instructions not to harm her. "I need a name for her."

"She is quite beautiful, but I don't exactly have a wide selection of serpentine names to give you."

"That is the same issue I've had earlier, and she seemed displeased," Harry admitted. After an affirmative hiss from his snake companion, he turned to the girl in the room. "So get thinking. I don't want a cranky familiar."

"I thought Hedwig was your familiar," Daphne said with a hint of surprise in her voice.

"Nowhere's written that I can't have two," Harry shrugged. "I'm a Parselmouth, might as well make use of my abilities and get a familiar I can communicate with and give precise instructions to."

"Fair enough," Daphne nodded before petting the boomslang softly again. "How about Serena?"

"I like the name. She seems to like it too. _Don't you, Serena?_ "

" _Yes, Master._ " Serena hissed happily, in such a way that even Daphne could sense her pleasure.

"Why that name, if you don't mind sharing?" Harry asked, allowing Serena to slither to the ground and coil itself in a warm part of the room.

"She seems very calm, and one of my friends from Slytherin is Italian. Sometimes he slips into Italian whenever we're in the dungeons talking about our families, and I know that _serena_ is Italian for calm."

"Ah, the Zabini kid?"

"You know him?" Greengrass asked, her eyebrows flying to her forehead.

"I remember him being sorted last in our year, and the name is pretty memorable," Harry mumbled. "But I don't think I've ever spoken to him. I've never seen him around Draco, so I'm assuming he's Grey?"

"You assumed correctly."

"Who else, then?"

"In our year, not many," Daphne sighed, her shoulders drooping slightly. "Luckily amongst the older years, there are more students of families with Grey sympathies or who are outright allied with the Greengrass family. In my year, it's me, Tracey Davis, and Blaise Zabini. Nott isn't as much of a twit as Draco and he talks cordially with the three of us, but he's firmly on the Dark side of the spectrum. Bulstrode isn't so bad either."

"Shit, sorry about that," Harry winced. The environment when only four of the year-mates in your own House are even remotely accomodating to you and the rest are borderline hostile sounded difficult to maneuver.

"Pay it no mind," Daphne waved her hand in dismissal. "I have respect, grudging though it is, and with the older years being more Grey, I can't be isolated again as I was in my first two years."

"If you say so. Let me know if I can do anything for you."

Daphne eyed him oddly for the offer for a second but nodded softly once after a while.

"Well, is there anything I can help you with?" Harry asked, pocketing his wand.

"I was meaning to tell you something about the Wizengamot, but in truth, I was so startled by that curse that I forgot," Daphne admitted without a hint of shame.

"You're already here, I'm sure we can find something to talk about," Harry shrugged, brushing past her to leave. "My room?"

"My, my, don't you move fast, Mr. Potter?" She purred seductively, cackling a bit when the boy couldn't contain his blush and had to look away. "If you were completely Slytherin, you wouldn't be so embarrassed with some harmless flirting, Potter."

"Harmless my ass, have you looked at yourself?" Harry said dryly after recovering from his blush.

"Why, is there something wrong with me?" Greengrass fluttered her eyelashes, grinning when Harry rolled his eyes. Secretly, she was rather pleased with his compliment, undignified though it may be.

When they reached his room, Harry threw himself to his pouf beanbag and looked at the girl as she sat daintily on his bed. "Tell me more about what it's like in the dungeons."

"Regretting your Sorting, Potter?" She smirked.

"Hardly," he drawled. "If my interactions with Draco are bad now, can you imagine how it would get if I lived in the snake pit?"

"You overestimate his capacities," she pointed out with a one-armed shrug.

"I think that's impossible," he deadpanned, making the girl grin slightly.

"Draco isn't the problem in the equation, it's the _Malfoy_. By himself, he is just an unimpressive brat, but his family is too rich and his father is too close with the Minister," she said in a serious tone. "And the fact that he will inherit the Black fortune once Sirius Black dies only makes it worse."

"Will he now?" Harry asked, thinking of the paperwork about the Black inheritance that had steadily progressed over the past days. The goblins had ascertained that Harry had enough Black blood to satisfy the Black Charter of Inheritance after all, and know they were sorting out formalities. Getting the rug out of Draco would significantly weaken his position if Harry timed it right.

"Unfortunately, it seems so. He introduces himself as the Heir of the Noble and Ancient House of Black to anyone who allows him to do so in the dungeons."

"What, the Malfoy name not enough for him?"

"The Malfoys are a rich and influential family since forever, but they are not very prestigious."

"How so?" Harry asked, leaning forwards.

"They're French," Daphne pointed out as if it were obvious. "They only came here in the Norman Invasion of 1066. I find it rather humorous that they try to hide the fact they only got their prominence by performing duties to a Muggle king," she finished with an amused glint in her eyes.

"It has been 900 years, you know," Harry pointed out. "Is it that big a deal anyway?"

"In a way, it is. You're forgetting that wizards frequently outlive a century, so 900 years is not that many generations back. Particularly when political power is mostly inherited as it is in Britain. And for all its recent decadence, the Black family is enormously prestigious for its contributions to the formation of Magical Britain."

"So, Draco gets the prestige of an English family and the money from the Malfoy line," Harry stated, sighing when Daphne nodded. "I've always been intrigued by the fact that those formalities never reached Gryffindor Tower," Harry mumbled pensively, filling away that information on Malfoy.

"Well, traditionalism isn't very welcomed in the House of Dumbledore, historically speaking."

"House of Dumbledore?" Harry asked bemusedly.

"It sure as Morgana isn't Gryffindor's anymore," Daphne scoffed. "By the standards of our dear Light Lord, Godric would have been quite the naughty boy."

"I can just imagine Dumbledore calling Godric Gryffindor 'my dear boy' and expressing his disappointment about his life choices," Harry pointed out with a mirthless laugh.

"And that would be the point that Gryffindor would draw his sword and try to skewer the Headmaster with it," Daphne pointed out before rolling her eyes. "The man is known primarily for his dueling and fighting abilities in the 10th Century, Light Wizard he was not."

"I think that none of the Hogwarts Houses represent what their respective Founders wish they would," Harry said staring at the distance, trying to coincide his experiences with the portrait in the Chamber with the House that hated him most.

"Gryffindor has turned into a House for hot-headed idiots, pranksters, and irresponsible little boys."

"It's not that bad," Harry defended weakly.

"Really? Just in your year, Weasley, Finnegan, and Thomas don't exactly inspire confidence."

"Ron is quite brave, you know."

"He is also a prejudiced idiot," Daphne pointed out dryly. "You know as well as I do that if he knew about our association, he would accuse me of bewitching you."

Harry tried to defend his friend, but deep down he knew the truth. Sighing, he conceded with a weak nod.

"The most formidable member of Gryffindor House in our year that isn't you is Granger, and that girl should have been a Ravenclaw."

"Am I _formidable_ now, Greengrass?" Harry smirked before puffing his chest out and drawing an exaggerated pose.

"Calm down there, Lockhart," she responded while concealing her amusement, making the boy pout dejectedly. "There are very few members of Gryffindor House that aren't mindless sycophants. Oddly enough, though they are immature, the Weasley Twins are some of the people I respect the most in the castle."

"Really? I wasn't expecting that," Harry asked, sincerely surprised. "I quite like them, but I didn't think they were your style."

"I'm not much of a prankster, no," she pointed out dryly. "However, when you look at their pranks objectively, they are inventive and competent wizards. And most importantly, no one can call them followers in any capacity. They are the leaders in your House even though they're not Seventh-Years."

"I can see that. Everyone there deeply respects them, even if they don't take themselves very seriously," Harry frowned. "I don't think they know that, but when they get serious about something, it is very memorable."

"Meanwhile, there's the Ravenclaws. They are arrogant snobs that seem to believe they are more intelligent than everyone else and who think the world can be accurately described in books."

"I wouldn't think you would complain of someone else's arrogance," Harry deadpanned.

"What's that supposed to mean, Potter?" She snapped at the boy.

"Well, you're not exactly _humble_ , are you, Greengrass?" He responded calmly, not adverting his eyes from her glare.

"Of course not," she scoffed before turning seriously to Harry. "But I am well aware of that particular fault in my personality. The Ravenclaws try to mask their arrogance as _wisdom,_ " she rolled her eyes. "I don't think Rowena would be very pleased with an army of bookish snobs."

"Knowledge is somewhat sensorial," Harry agreed cautiously, "but books are rather important. They have a library in Ravenclaw Tower for a reason."

Daphne studied Harry for a long moment before speaking in a voice barely above a whisper. "Your mannerisms have changed quite a lot in the small frame of time I've met you, let alone to the shy boy I've seen in the previous three years."

"Is there a question in there somewhere?"

"How?"

"I grew up," Harry shrugged. In fairness, it was what happened. Between Salazar in the Chamber and the book he had been reading on Ethics, he had matured greatly quickly, more out of necessity than everything else.

"Just that?"

"Greatness is often achieved for simple reasons," Harry said vaguely, inwardly noting how he had developed a penchant for the dramatic since encountering Salazar's portrait.

"But always through complicated means," Greengrass retorted. Harry merely shrugged silently, compelling her to continue. "You shouldn't hide your complexities, Potter. Interesting people are never simple, and you have layers."

"So does an onion; it doesn't mean they are interesting." Daphne hummed unconvincedly. "It is a simple truth, Greengrass."

"The truth is rarely pure and never simple, Potter."

"Did you just quote Oscar Wilde at me, Greengrass?" Harry asked in astonishment, remembering how much Salazar enjoyed _The Importance of Being Earnest_ and kept interrupting his essays to quote the book and praising its brilliance.

"Quotation is a serviceable substitute for wit, Potter," she smirked.

"Did you just do it again?!" Harry asked in increasing exasperation.

The girl just laughed happily, making him chuckle nervously as she wiped away tears of mirth. "Sorry for that Potter, I just find it amusing. I quote Muggle literature constantly in the dungeons. It's delightfully useful; Muggles have millions of clever insults already neatly packaged in their stories, so I hardly have to think of new ones. It's not like anyone from the Dark faction would recognize them anyway."

"That is quite clever," Harry smiled, thinking about how he could use that. He was already using Muggle literature to guide his conscience, borrowing more explicitly from his books would be a natural next step.

"I think that Slytherin House is the one that stuck to its Founder's vision the most," Daphne pointed out rather sadly. She seemed enormously disappointed in the status of her House.

"I don't think that's true at all," Harry said firmly, having more interactions with that Founder than anyone else alive.

"Well, you can't say it's the Hufflepuffs," she shrugged weakly and gave him a wan smile. "I don't think Helga would be happy about how her House rolls over and rarely shows any prominence within Hogwarts as a whole. They allow themselves to follow and not to lead."

"Still, I think that Slytherin House falling to be the House of Voldemort is quite the change from its original purpose."

"Can't deny you there," Daphne said sadly again. "There's a lot of effort to be had to change how the snake pit works."

"We should do something about that," Harry pointed out with a sideways glance at the girl.

"What can we do, Potter? We'll be students for just another four years. That's barely enough time to make a large difference," Greengrass said sadly.

"Come on, Daphne. You know as well as I do that what we're doing here can very well turn into us dominating the castle if we play our cards right." Harry said, standing up and sitting down next to her, forcing the girl to turn sideways to face him. They were both staring at one another seriously, calculating their next words.

"You think you can hold the castle as a whole?" She asked skeptically after a long contemplative silence.

"You'd manage to hold Slytherin House if we're smart about it, and that's the hardest House to influence."

"Ah, so I'd be your lackey, is it? Would you require weakly reports from the Snake Pit, My Lord?" She said, sarcastically bowing to Harry.

"I was more thinking about us trying to dominate Hogwarts politically as an equal partnership, but we both know that I couldn't hold much power over the dungeons giving that I'm a Gryffindor."

"Why would you want to share any influence?"

"Because I can't do it alone, frankly," he shrugged. "My political instincts are still developing, and you are rather good at this whole thing. Plus, it's not like we wouldn't work in the Wizengamot together, so think of this as training for the future of the Grey faction."

"What would be your role for Granger?" Daphne asked curiously.

"I'm not sure," he winced as he imagined how displeased Hermione would be that she got so dismissed in this conversation. "While her swearing the Vow did quell my fears that she would go kicking and screaming about this whole project to the Headmaster, I don't trust her not to bend down to authority if I were to make a move on the entire Hogwarts population."

"I don't think of her as much of a leader, to be honest," Daphne said pensively, taking a moment to think about the other girl. "Her veneration for authority figures is far too grand for her to lead anyone, and I think that it would be a matter of loyalties between you and Dumbledore. She is more of a specialist than anything else."

"Specialist? What do you mean?" Harry asked, not disagreeing with the assessment in the slightest.

"Well, any leadership position has spheres of influence, in some sort of vague hierarchy. The uppermost leaders generally delegate certain functions to certain people, who lead their groups, and so it repeats itself depending on the size of the whole thing. It wouldn't be much different if we were to take power in Hogwarts, but Granger would act somewhat outside of this hierarchy. Like a singular advisor that you could direct to solve specific issues or to request council about points as they come along."

"How dreadfully formal, Greengrass," Harry said exasperatedly, imagining trying to draw a flowchart of the organization that the girl had seemingly been building in her head.

"I'm just hazarding a guess as to how it would work," she defended herself. "I'm not condoning that we set up a military structure or any such nonsense, but it is almost impossible to achieve anything without an Inner Circle of some kind."

"The words Inner Circle just remind me of Voldemort, honestly," Harry grumbled.

"The only leader who doesn't have an Inner Circle is Dumbledore, Potter, and that is simply because the man thinks himself to be the only wizard worthy of every possible position in his Inner Circle."

"Fair enough," Harry snorted.

"Any takeover of Slytherin House will involve a great deal of violence beyond simple political maneuvering," she pointed out after they shared a brief silence.

"You did see what I did to that dummy, and you do know I'm not even a Fourth Year yet, right?" Harry asked pointing at the door for emphasis.

"That's not the point, Potter," Greengrass said, swatting at his hand. "Hogwarts is the foremost educational institution in Magical Britain, what happens inside it governs and is governed by outside factors. We won't be able to make any grand moves without freeing the Grey away from its current hostage situation in the Wizengamot."

"We do that, then."

"Right," she scoffed before adding bitterly, "we can come with a plan to do that when my father has been trying and failing for a decade."

"I do have a plan," Harry said cautiously.

"How would you have a plan when you don't have all the necessary information?" Greengrass asked with her eyes narrowed, leaning forwards and clutching her fists so tightly he could see her knuckles whiten. For the generally composed and sarcastic Daphne Greengrass he had come to appreciate, such an explicit show of displeasure was certainly rather alarming.

"I have an inkling, Daphne," he said softly, allowing the girl to feel whatever level of anger she had to at that moment. After seeing her eyes narrow even further, she leaned back and let her body rest on the wall, supporting her feet on Harry's thighs. In the ensuing silence, he chose to continue. "But we'll have to go to that meeting with Cygnus, and we both know that I'm not ready to do that."

A long time passed with Harry looking at the girl earnestly and letting her analyze him with her ice-blue eyes, not betraying any of the discomforts he felt at the emotionless way she seemed to be studying him.

"We'll improve our efforts to drill etiquette into your brain," she said with great finality, getting up and signaling for him to follow, which he did, after briefly regretting the whole conversation.

* * *

The following weeks had few highlights for Harry. In between more intensive and frequent lectures on the Wizengamot and the proper address when talking to her father with Daphne, besides some inside information that would make endearing himself to the man much easier, Harry's mornings were mostly busy. Whenever the pair of them were not reviewing their manners, Harry was casting increasingly difficult curses under the Slytherin's careful eye, even though she eventually relented and started to practice the same spells. Harry had found an affinity to the many permutations of the Whip Charm and was working on how to continue using his wand whilst not relinquishing the destructive power of the conjured whip, while Daphne skipped the spell completely and went on to more assuredly Dark Magic in Rookwood's book.

He had even received some correspondence from the Anderson family, that filled him in with the little news they had gotten from Surrey and asked him amicably about what was going on with his life. He noticed with some amusement that Lindsay insisted on writing a letter completely separate from her parents, for reasons that he didn't quite understand, but he eagerly developed a private correspondence with the American girl.

Hermione seemed to be profoundly irritated by the increasing time that Harry was spending with Daphne and had taken to try and monopolize his attention during the afternoon whenever they had no classes, behaving rather oddly. She insisted on sitting on his lap when he sat on his armchair in the improvised common room, but only when she knew that Greengrass was approaching the end of one of her lectures and would come to the common room afterward. She hung so close to Harry that he couldn't hide Serena, who made Hermione distinctively uncomfortable. Considering her last experience with a snake had been with a basilisk, he couldn't exactly fault his best friend, but the discomfort made him sad for his boomslang companion. She was also annoying him occasionally with how eagerly she spoke about whatever had happened in one of her lectures that day. To be fair, her enthusiasm was quite endearing and he found the way her face lit up in excitement whenever a student came up to ask a question to be completely genuine, but the repetitiveness of the act would disturb his personal studies. He had already relinquished the possibility of reading Rookwood's book with anyone besides Greengrass, and so had to content himself with simply reading his upcoming school material.

Only three interesting things had happened in the period, he reminisced.

* * *

The first one had happened on the same day of his conversation with Greengrass. Late in the afternoon, Flitwick had finally arrived and went directly over to the common room, where Harry was reading alone.

"Hello Harry," the half-goblin said before scaling over a pile of books to sit down in an armchair next to the raven-haired boy. "I am terribly sorry for not showing up today, Albus changed the date of the teacher's end of year meeting without prior notice. Severus had to cut short a trip to gather ingredients in Eastern Europe and was quite irritated. It was very amusing," the professor finished with a smirk.

"Is everything okay at Hogwarts?" Harry asked, putting his book down to talk properly with Flitwick.

"Oh, it's quite alright. We were simply discussing the student rankings for the year, which showed a lot of volatility from last year. Honestly, I don't understand why Albus was so desperate to call this meeting. There was nothing urgent in the slightest," he huffed in slight annoyance before chirping up as he normally did, "however, the Headmaster did spend a lot of time talking about your grades."

"You think he might have called this meeting to talk just about my grades?" Harry asked disbelievingly and with a bit of fear. Dumbledore couldn't have caught on to how he played the Dursley's, right?

"My more cynical side tells me that he called the meeting out of the schedule to disallow for the possibility of any collusion between you and your assumed mentor," the Professor pointed up with a sideways glance. "That way he could check if a member of staff had been helping you specifically."

"My mentor?" Harry asked weakly. It was rather terrifying that the Headmaster had theorized that he had found a mentor to help him with his grades, and he hoped that that was the limit of Dumbledore's imagination as to what his mentor would be teaching him. Had he known that he was learning with Salazar and that the teachings included actively scheming against him, his life would become unbearable year-round.

"I did say that it was unlikely for you to have developed such a keen eye for Magic without instructed guidance," Filius noted seriously, "apparently, it was your grades in History of Magic that clued the Headmaster that something was amiss. Luckily, Cuthbert hasn't attended these meetings since _before_ he died, so nothing suspicious could be confirmed, but your rather impressive grades on the subject seemed incoherent with a Muggle-raised boy with a poor history on the discipline."

"Shit," Harry mumbled. He was not counting on the half-goblin to hear him, but he clearly did, as he began chuckling at Harry's imposition. After a long minute of thinking, something about what Filius had said rang again in his head. "Wait, did you say something about student _rankings_?"

"Yes," the Professor squeaked, "we make yearly rankings per year per class and a separate ranking overall for each year."

Harry looked intently at the Charms Master before a wicked grin formed on his face.

"If I were to arrange you to give detention to the Weasley Twins on the first week of class, would you possibly leave these rankings on your desk for _someone_ to find?"

* * *

The second interesting thing that happened in the period was his visit to Gringotts to collect his new weapon. The meeting itself could barely be called a meeting at all. Griphook had been waiting for him and essentially threw a closed box in his lap and said hastily that it had been an honor for Gringotts to had worked with the basilisk, but he had an emergency meeting with senior leadership and had to go. After scratching his head in slight confusion, he simply turned in his heel and went back to his improvised school.

What had amused him in retrospect was that Greengrass saw how reverently he was holding the box, made the connection to the precious box she constantly fidgeted with but never opened, and decided he was holding a Potter family heirloom. Assuming it was a good segue to teaching him more about the Wizengamot and his family's voting history, she followed him with practiced elegance and so excited was him that he hadn't noticed she was in the room with him.

When he opened the box to see the dagger closely, Daphne immediately took notice and quite frightened him with her "What is that?", making him almost drop the weapon.

"Merlin, Greengrass, you scared me," he said, clutching his heart with his idle hand.

"Not my fault you weren't paying attention," she dismissed casually. "Now tell me, what is that?"

"Demanding witch," he scolded playfully, his excitement overcoming his irritation as he peered at the dagger in his hand. "This is my dagger."

"I gathered so much, Potter," she said dryly, "I mean whose is it? Is it an heirloom?"

"No, I had it commissioned," he said, studying the dagger's scabbard, which was a green so dark it resembled black and was inscribed with silvery runes he couldn't decipher. He touched the material lightly to notice that it resembled leather, but was magical in some way by how his hand fizzed as he touched it. The grip of the dagger was cylindrically formed by a snake coiled in a helix, the black scales of the animal shining brightly throughout the entire extension of the hilt. The pommel was the snake's head as it opened its mouth to reveal long and pointed fangs, with two minuscule dark green emeralds as its eyes. The cross-guard was decorated with two silver snakes standing at opposite directions in perfect symmetry, creating a beautiful contrast with the black metal of the grip above. He gingerly deposited the dagger in Greengrass's awaiting hands, who immediately inspected it attentively. She looked reverently at the detailed scales in the black snake in the grip, the green shine of the emeralds in its eyes, the way the fangs were sufficiently sharp to draw the tiniest bit of blood from her pinky finger, and the beautiful color of the scabbard.

"It looks incredible," Daphne whispered in earnest amazement, too awed by the craftsmanship to decay into one of her usual sarcastic comments. She tried to draw the blade from the scabbard but it wouldn't budge. "Why is it not working?" She whined confusedly.

Harry chuckled and retrieved the dagger from her grasp. "It only works for me, Greengrass." After he said so, he quickly withdrew the blade and gave the scabbard to the girl, who briefly analyzed the runes, concluded that they were far too complicated for her level of expertise, and gazed at the blade itself.

The blade had to be withdrawn at an angle because the basilisk's fang was too curved for a regular draw. It was clear from the way the fang was carved that it was not made of metal, and it gave the entire weapon an animalistic feel that was much more distinct than the regular steel from Gryffindor's Sword. The fang had been polished within an inch of its life because it was perfectly smooth and shone in a clear and pearly white that was completely incongruent from the original monster in the Chamber. Still, the point of the blade was so sharp as to make the deadliness of the dagger perfectly obvious, and while the goblins had collected as much poison as they could from the fang, he knew that some residual poison had been imbued into it and couldn't be extracted. Perhaps not enough to kill someone from a papercut, but enough to poison with a direct hit.

"That isn't metal," Daphne said confusedly. She tried to see the sharpness of the blade by pricking her finger into it, but Harry quickly took it away from her range, making the girl frown indignantly at him. "Why the sudden protectiveness, Potter? I'm not dying from a tiny cut."

"Considering that this is a basilisk fang, you might just do that," Harry deadpanned, making the girl snap her hand away from him faster than he thought was possible. When he looked at her, she was wide-eyed and shocked. "And before you ask, yes, this is from the basilisk I killed."

She gulped but nodded and asked to see the weapon from close up. She gingerly examined the hilt once more and looked at the fang up close before carefully putting it back into his grasp. He immediately held the curved blade at an angle that felt comfortable, with its point upwards and outwards from his relaxed hand, allowing for a quick attack without risk of penetrating one of his wrist veins with the fang.

"Why?" She whispered, not withdrawing her eyes from the dagger.

He quickly moved the dagger much closer to her in a fluid motion, not enough to constitute an attack but close enough that she could again see the details on the blade. His movements had grown more and more gracious as he trained with Flitwick. Still not enough to be reliable in a fight, but enough that he could command his movements much more accurately.

"I am making my lordly persona, bit by bit," he said in a serious tone, looking straight into Greengrass's eyes as he talked. "Albus Dumbledore hides behind tacky robes and nonsensical words to allow people to forget how intelligent and powerful he is, making his presence inconspicuous as he draws attention away from his machinations and towards his larger-than-life persona. When I ascend to my position outside Hogwarts, people will look at me as an inexperienced brat with no place in their chambers. I will never be able to act as Pureblood such as yourself, even after all the instructing in the world. I will never be seen as shrewd or cunning even if I am those things. What I can remind them is that I am a fighter. That I am more than the Boy-Who-Lived. That I have killed a mythical beast at twelve-years-old with just a sword in the mystical Chamber from one of this country's most prominent wizards. _This_ ," he said firmly, as he held the dagger in front of her eyes, "is my Gryffindor's Sword, and it will be a reminder of what I do to my enemies when pressed into a corner."

Daphne kept gazing into his eyes after he finished, and after being bolstered by the speech, Harry met her gaze calmly but determinedly. After a long while, Harry took a step sideways and said he was going to train with the dagger against the dummies.

What he didn't see was the way Daphne's blue eyes _burned_ as he left the room, her gaze heavy and smokey and half-glazed with a sentiment he wouldn't be able to identify had he remained.

* * *

The third interesting thing that happened was his lectures. While Madeleine Tessier favored Greengrass, the girl was quickly becoming Harry's favorite, much to the consternation of Dennis Creevey, who constantly called attention to himself to try to get noticed by the green-eyes instructor.

In all fairness, all ten children had grown leaps and bounds under their tutelage, and even in Daphne's Wizarding Customs classes the students were making strides and could accurately greet a wizard or witch of all social standings in the correct circumstance. They had all collectively agreed to the backstory of having been collectively instructed by books recommended by a patron they had met during Muggle-born orientations with Flitwick, an excuse he gladly agreed to corroborate.

Little Madeleine, however, clearly was in a class of her own when casting was considered. She alone had managed the entire repertoire of spells that Harry had given throughout his lectures. As he watched her repeatedly diminish the time she took to concentrate to cast, he decided to hold her back as the class ended to give her separate instructions.

"Miss Tessier, are you enjoying the lessons so far?" He asked kindly, smiling at the enthusiasm shining through the girl's bright amber eyes.

"Of course, Professor Potter," she said with a small grin at the visible discomfort at the formal address.

"I'm happy to hear it. I wanted to talk to you separately because you've been doing so well at the spells."

"Oh, are you giving me new spells to try?" She asked animatedly at the idea, her eyes shining even brighter.

"Not exactly," he chuckled at the cute pout he received. "I am going to give you some exercises to control your magic better."

"What do you mean?" She asked with a confused frown.

After contemplating for a second, he looked at the girl and motioned for her to follow him. They walked in silence until they reached the room in which he trained with Flitwick and Greengrass. By some miracle, he hadn't been busted by Hermione yet.

"I didn't know this was here," she said in a small voice, looking around at the magical dummies.

"This is where Daphne and I train, Miss Tessier," he smiled slightly to ease the nervous girl. "I am going to show you something you have to keep to yourself, okay?"

When the girl nodded, he concentrated on amassing as much magic as he could. He wasn't going to cast any of the curses he had been reading on Rookwood's book, not even the plain Whip Charm which technically wasn't a curse, but he did try for a very overpowered Severing Charm.

" _Diffindo_ ," he intoned clearly and watched as an angry red light burst from his wand at high speed and hit the nearest dummy in the chest with enough force to cut an enormous gash that almost cleared right through the dummy. He watched Madeleine as she widened her eyes at the power behind the casting and explained in a kind voice. "Magic can be used in many ways. Most wizards focus exclusively on their level of power, or how they can cast the strongest offensive spells with the largest force imaginable. This is what I've done with this Severing Charm, focused only on power. Now, in my lectures, because you are all just learning the spells, you have very little control over anything you cast. However, I've noticed that you've been getting quite good at casting quickly, except for a couple of more complicated spells, right?"

The girl nodded shyly but kept her focus firmly on Harry.

"Now, what I'm about to do looks significantly less impressive, but it is quite difficult to do. Ready?" The girl nodded and Harry sat down on the ground to focus properly. He didn't need to close his eyes, but he did need to gently touch the magic inside him before casting. " _Lumos_ "

A white ball of light surged from his wand before being gently levitated above his head. He repeated the process, quietly conjuring tiny balls of light of many different colors - red, blue, green, purple, emerald, silver, even black - all of the same size, and levitating them gently around his body. Then he maneuvered his wand and started muttering subvocally, and the balls of lights all gently spun around him as if in orbit, creating a show of shadow and illumination consuming one another around him. The girl watched transfixed the show of magic before Harry canceled it all abruptly, took a deep breath, and smiled at the amazed expression on the girl's face.

"Control over your magic is just as important, if not more important, than power. As you may have already gathered, I am quite a bit more powerful than the average wizard of my age, so I do fall into the bad habit of not focusing that much on the level of control I have over my casting. I can generally compensate for any failing I have by exerting more power into it. But that is not an option available to everyone, and to be fair, it is not that good for me either. My connection with magic is somewhat instinctive. I _feel_ magic, so it flows unimpeded, naturally, like a river. Hermione, for instance, is a much more logical person, who depends on her mind to do things. Her level of control is higher than mine. Her magic feels structured and planned out, like the façade of a fancy building."

"What about Professor Greengrass?" The girl asked, a bit of hero-worship bleeding into her question. Harry smiled amusedly before thinking for a second.

"Daphne's magic is different. It is simultaneously welcoming and also sharp and dangerous. Like someone hiding a sharp piece of glass under a velvet chair."

"Do you feel everyone's magic?" Madeleine asked curiously. "Can you tell me what my magic feels like?"

"I am more sensitive to magic precisely because of my natural approach to casting," Harry said with a small grin, "but no, I can't tell you what your magic feels like because the levels of magic you emit are too weak for me examine closely. I can tell you that it is quite distinctive from your peers, and I imagine that your talent for visualization will make you quite prodigious in Transfiguration."

"I like Transfiguration," she beamed before wrinkling her nose, "I prefer Wizarding Customs, however."

"I think you mean to say that you prefer Daphne," Harry teased, laughing at how she blushed indignantly.

"Meanie," she huffed.

"Sorry, Madeleine," he said as his laughter died down.

"Miss Tessier," she said haughtily as she raised her chin.

"Of course, Miss Tessier," Harry said amusedly as he bowed politely to the young lady.

"That was a very gracious bow," she said seriously with a firm nod. It took all of Harry's willpower not to laugh. The girl was so cute.

"Can I tell you a secret?" He whispered conspiratorially, leaning forwards. The girl approached him slyly and grinned in satisfaction about learning private information. "Professor Greengrass is teaching me too."

"Really?" The girl gasped surprised. "You didn't learn this at school?"

"We don't have Wizarding Customs lessons at Hogwarts," he informed her with a faux-indignant tone that she took way too seriously, forcing him to hold down his laughter. "That is why we teach you all here so diligently."

"That is a travesty," she said firmly, a cute frown adorning her face before she looked up at him with wide amber eyes full of determination. "We should move to have this lecture taught annually at the school."

"I quite agree," he said with a smile, widening as she glowed in satisfaction. "Now, what I want you to do is try and get more control over your magic. First, try to get your wand to light up in different colors. Pick a random color and keep casting until you can get that color consistently whenever you want. Then, try levitating that ball of light and keep it fixed at a height. Then light up another light in a different color and do the same. I want to see how many balls you can keep levitated for ten consecutive seconds. Got it?"

She nodded happily and Harry guided her to the common room, where she began her exercise immediately.

Harry smiled as he watched her struggle to change the color of the Wand-Lighting Charm. Teaching these kids had been the best decision he made that year.

* * *

As another day ended and he put his book aside for the evening, he laid down thinking before allowing himself to sleep. There would only be a couple of days until he had to go to The Burrow for the Quidditch World Cup Final, and for the first time in his life, he figured that he would rather stay home.


	17. Competitions, Competitions, Competitions

**Chapter Seventeen - Competitions, Competitions, Competitions**

* * *

"Do you think it's going to be that bad?" Hermione asked, not bothering to hide her amusement. When Harry just groaned in response, she started giggling until tears threatened to spill out of her eyes. "Ron isn't that bad, Harry, don't be mean."

"I don't see you very excited," Harry grumbled under his breath, glaring at his best friend when she started to giggle again.

"I'm not, but I don't like Quidditch anyway," she shrugged, "I'm more interested in how they can hide an event his big from the Muggle authorities, to be honest."

"Only you would be more interested in the logistics than in the match," he grinned, but she refused to be embarrassed.

"It's much more interesting to think about that than to watch people fly about looking for a ball," Hermione deadpanned.

"Aw, so you don't like my Quidditch matches?" Harry pouted playfully.

"That's different, and you know it," Hermione huffed, with a tinge of red invading her cheeks. "I watch them because you're my friend, and I like seeing you so happy."

"I know," Harry smiled softly, "I _do_ appreciate it."

Hermione's blush darkened slightly, and she couldn't stop a smile from appearing on her face. Nevertheless, she noticed how warm her face felt and decided to change the subject lest she embarrasses herself further. Greengrass wasn't around today until later, so she wasn't at risk of losing his attention.

"I don't get why you're not excited to see Ron," she lied. She was perfectly aware of why Harry was reticent to see the redhead, and it was something she also shared. The summer so far had been the most fun she ever had, and she knew Harry felt the same. Their prior interactions with the youngest Weasley son were entertaining, but there was no challenge there. The Harry she had seen so far this summer, and that she had grown to become even more attached to, didn't seem the kind of man to enjoy long periods of mindlessness when Ron was precisely the opposite.

"He just seems a bit immature, to be honest," he said, sinking a bit deeper into his armchair and playing with the rim of his bottle of butterbeer. "I'm far more worried about Mr. and Mrs. Weasley."

"How come?" Hermione asked with a frown she didn't have to fake this time around. As far as she could tell, Harry had excellent relationships with the two Weasley parents.

"They're going to camp me in the Burrow for the rest of the summer, Hermione," he drawled with a bored look in his eyes before grimacing slightly, "after spending weeks teaching the kids, I don't see myself enjoying degnoming the garden with Fred and George."

"Fair enough," she wrinkled her nose before thinking slightly. "Have they made overtures for you to stay at their house?"

"Made overtures, Hermione, seriously?" Harry smirked bemusedly. "Methinks the lady doth read too much."

"There's no such thing as too much reading," she said before smacking him in the arm. "And there's nothing antiquated about saying overtures. It's a perfectly adequate word."

"Never change, Hermione," Harry shook his head looking downwards.

"I don't plan to," she beamed at her friend, making him laugh. She joined him and they stayed in comfortable silence for a while. Hermione loved Harry's laugh; over the summer it had grown lower and deeper as he entered deeper into puberty. His laughter resembled a grown man's chuckle, and it gave him an aura of calm power, like an ocean in a high tide. Her mind subconsciously went to the times she had managed to watch him teach the students over the past weeks, and she barely suppressed a shudder. That right there was _dangerous_ territory for her hormones.

"They haven't, but we both know it's going to happen," he said softly after a while, his eyes downcast. Hermione frowned concernedly. After more than a month of watching a stronger Harry emerge, the appearance of the meek and shy boy she had befriended in their First Year startled her slightly.

"This isn't about the degnoming, is it?" She asked with a sad smile.

"You've always been perceptive when you want to be," he said with a soft smile before his gaze hardened and focused on her eyes, trapping her in place. "I hate having my freedom taken away from me, even when in good intentions. I don't think Mrs. Weasley would take too kindly to an independent me. She's too controlling and smothering. How do you think that Ron turned out so badly?"

"Harry, that's our best friend," Hermione defended weakly.

"I know," Harry sighed. "I like him, I truly do. He's fun, and he's been there when it counts, but he's lazy as all hell. His mother controls so much in that family, he never has to take the initiative on anything."

'Well. There isn't any denying that.' Hermione thought sadly. She hoped that their friendship with Ron wouldn't be too affected as they both changed, but she doubted it would remain the same as the previous three years. Even in the last month of their Third Year, there was some growing distance. Not enough break their status as best friends, but enough to spot a trend.

"You think it's going to be that bad in the Burrow?" She asked after they spent some time in far less comfortable silence.

"I do."

"Well, I can see with my parents if I can stay there with you." She volunteered after a while. Convincing her parents might be a bit difficult, particularly considering the fact she barely spent any time with them because of Hogwarts, but she reckoned she could after some negotiating.

"That's very kind of you, Hermione," Harry smiled gratefully at her, and she could feel her face redden in a mixture of embarrassment and pure glee. When he squeezed her hand briefly before continuing, she could feel her heart trying to escape out of her throat. "But I don't think you can change this. I don't think anyone can convince Molly Weasley when it comes to her children, and she considers me one of hers. It's endearing when it's not annoying."

Knocking that her voice would crack if she tried to speak so soon after her heartrate spiked so violently, she settled to fix Harry with a mock-glare as she put her hands on her hips until she could trust herself to speak. "I'll have you know that no one beats Hermione Granger in a scream-off when it comes to Harry Potter," she said with faux haughtiness before raising her nose pointedly. Harry goggled at her for long enough that she was starting to get nervous before he burst into peals of laughter.

"That was great! I'll keep that in mind," he said, drying a tear that formed in his eye before turning to face her. "I'd trust you to get me out of this if we were only dealing with Molly, but that's not the case."

"What do you mean?"

"Dumbledore," Harry said darkly.

Hermione sighed and rubbed her fingers on her forehead lightly. In fairness, she had recognized that what she was doing with Harry in teaching the First Years was truly a difference-maker in ways she couldn't envision Dumbledore making the effort of doing. She was still baffled that Harry was so adamantly against reporting this idea to the Headmaster know that they had proof it worked so effectively, but Flitwick seemed to think it was unwise. Maybe they needed a larger sample size before convincing the Headmaster. But Harry's distrust of the Greatest Wizard of the Age was all-consuming and she couldn't make heads or tails of it no matter how hard she tried. She would always stand by her friend, but this change was not one she liked. Hopefully, she could change Harry's mind about the mind.

"I don't think he'd be interested in where you spend the rest of the summer if you give him a good explanation, Harry."

"Please," he scoffed, and she had to hide how much his quick dismissal hurt her, "the way he had asked me to stay at the Dursley's during the summer couldn't be more of a veiled threat if he were slowing stroking a cat in a big red leather chair."

Every fiber of Hermione's body wanted to argue that point and prove that Dumbledore only had the best of intentions in mind, but then she remembered how her heart - and her body - had surged when Harry touched her hand earlier. She desperately wanted to feel more of that. She felt emboldened when it came to Harry lately, moreso than she had ever thought possible, but that touch came at his initiative, and for her, that meant all the difference in the world. She kept silent and nodded sadly, knowing that arguing further would make Harry disappear into his books.

Meanwhile, Harry's mind was on his last comment. He had intended to spend more time in the Muggle world during the summer, but his responsibilities in his makeshift school and his time learning about Wizarding Culture with Daphne had stolen what little time he had planned to use exploring Muggle London.

"Hey, are you free after our lectures?" Harry asked Hermione casually, surprising himself slightly when her breath hitched and she looked redder than a tomato.

"W-why do you ask?" She stammered nervously, avoiding his gaze. He frowned. This was unusual for Hermione, she was normally so confident.

"I was thinking of going to London today and was hoping you can go with me."

"Oh," she said weakly, her face practically glowing red at that point. "I'm sorry, Harry, but I have a thing with my parents."

"Really? Guess I'll go alone then," he said. He wished he could go with Hermione; she certainly could navigate her way around London better than him, but he could figure himself out well enough.

In her mind, Hermione was cursing herself for being a stinking coward for not taking this opportunity to go on a date ('it wasn't necessarily a date', argued a part of her mind, largely overshadowed by the larger part that was flipping between yelling that she was a coward and blabbering about how she had no contingency for an emergency date), but a small glimmer of hope showed itself somewhere within the confines of her brain and brought her out of her panicked stupor.

"Do you think you can beg off a day from the Burrow?" She asked hopefully. "That way we can still explore London together and I don't have to disappoint my parents. You can tell them that your relatives asked you to do something."

Harry considered this carefully. He had already informed Mrs. Weasley that he would have to take the day before they went to Hogwarts and go back to Surrey because the Dursleys would need him when he was secretly planning to meet with Daphne's father. He could write a letter saying that they wanted him a day earlier and it shouldn't be an issue.

"Alright, I think I can," he said with a soft smile.

Hermione suppressed the desire to yell triumph at the skies and settled for an enormously satisfied smile. When the day came, she would be ready.

* * *

When the classes ended, Hermione practically sprinted out of the door, already formulating her plans for a perfect date with Harry exploring London, barely keeping herself from giggling.

"I've never seen Granger so excited in my life," Daphne muttered lowly so none of the passing firsties could hear, "it's frankly disturbing."

"Said she had a thing with her parents," Harry chuckled before murmuring in the same tone. Daphne hummed in understanding but didn't say anything as their students filled out of the room.

"Want to review something about the Wizengamot, then?" Daphne said, raising a single eyebrow expectantly and half-stepping towards his room already.

"Actually," he said slowly, making her blink in surprise and adjust her posture to face him fully. "I was thinking of going to London."

"We are in London," she drawled as if talking to a very confused child.

"I mean _London_ London," he rolled his eyes. "Like Muggle London."

"Don't you think it's more important to review things for the meeting with my father?" She asked, less admonishing than curious. "You are leaving tomorrow."

"We've been going through this quite often, Greengrass," Harry shrugged, "I don't think a day more of studying will make or break me, honestly."

"If you think so," Daphne said slowly, feeling slightly nervous. She was hoping that Potter would behave accordingly with her father, both for their conjoined ambitions and for the feeling she felt when he had talked about his dagger earlier that day. Just remembering the expression on his face then made her eyes glaze over a bit before she could control herself. "What do you plan on doing in London London, as you so eloquently describe it?"

"No idea," he grinned when she practically exuded disappointment, "the city is pretty large, so I just plan on exploring it and finding things to do."

"You're hopeless, Potter," she deadpanned. "I don't think you can be trusted to your own devices. You need adult supervision."

"You're hurting my feelings, Daphne," he pouted before pointing and smirking, looking over at the half-goblin that was answering questions from the firsties. "You think Flitwick would blend in well?"

"I was thinking about me, actually," she flipped her hair mockingly, internally pleased with recent developments. Bantering with Potter was climbing spots in her list of favorites hobbies, and if she could somehow turn that into spending more time with the boy, all the better. Hermione might have noticed him first, but she hadn't scraped the surface of the potential behind the teenager - only Daphne had seen it, that day in his room, and it had thrilled her.

"I had no idea you had interesting in mere mortals, Lady Daphne," he said, bowing to the exact degree to someone of her station. The gesture appeased her fears that the meeting with Lord and Lady Greengrass would be a disaster, and she felt herself grinning before she could control her expression. Harry had noticed it, given the smirk as he kept the bow for longer than necessary, and when she narrowed her eyes at him, he only cheekily let his smirk grow. Daphne rolled her eyes and cuffed him in the back of the head. "Oi! Violence goes against your protocol."

"I'm perfect, the protocol bends to appease me," she smirked at his disgruntled face.

"Oh darling, someone is _lying_ to you," he said with wide innocent eyes.

"Denial is a powerful thing."

"I'm so glad we agree."

"So, Muggle London?" She asked, twirling a blonde lock of her hair absently, internally grinning when his eyes were caught in the motion.

"Sure, sounds fun actually," he smiled softly, "I invited Hermione before because I wanted some company, but she had that thing with her parents scheduled already."

Daphne was caught between cackling madly that she had stolen Granger's opportunity and being confused as to _why_ the girl hadn't jumped at the chance. Deciding that she could never understand the inner workings of the frazzled-hair brunette, she simply turned to look at her clothes.

"Other than the wizarding coat, I think I'm good to go," she said pensively. She was wearing black pants that were more or less indistinguishable from dark denim jeans unless you were to feel the material, and the plain white shirt was Muggle in design. But the green overcoat, accordingly branded with the Greengrass coat of arms and flowing from her shoulders down to just above her ankles, would stand out like a sore thumb. "You think you can transfigure it into a Muggle style?"

"I probably can," he frowned and touched the coat lightly, "but I don't know for how long it would stay transfigured, and we wouldn't be able to change it from there. I think Flitwick would be a better choice here. Filius!" He called from across the room and motioned for the Charms Master to approach them.

"What can I do for you, Harry?" he asked genially, bobbing up and down his heels.

"Can you transfigure Daphne's coat into something more Muggle? We were thinking of going to London and I don't trust myself to make my transfiguration stick for longer than an hour."

"Oh, is that it?" The Professor smirked knowingly at the girl. Daphne Greengrass prided herself in not blushing - she thought it was too undignified a loss of your emotional control, and constantly mocked Astoria and Tracey for being unable to do the same - and she didn't that time, but she absolutely felt embarrassed at being caught by Flitwick, and privately thanked Morgana for the obliviousness of men like Potter. "Alright, I can do that for you two."

Waving his wand and muttering under his breath, the green coat shrunk in size until it stood only barely over her white shirt. It changed to a darker green than before and had a wide lapel and buttons set diagonally to open or close the jacket. All in all, it was a very tasteful piece of clothing, and she was about to profusely thank the half-goblin when he changed the color of all the buttons and the small details sewn into the lapel to the same shade of emerald green as Harry's eyes. When Daphne faced the half-goblin, wide-eyed, and deeply embarrassed, the shit-eating grin on the man's face erased all thoughts of gratitude from her mind.

"That coat looks great on you," Harry said with a soft smile, withdrawing her from her plans of vengeance on the Charms classroom. For a flicker of a second, he saw his eyes darken slightly, and she felt her mouth go dry, but it came and went so fast that she was sincerely confused if it had happened.

"Thanks," she said with a small smile before turning to the Professor and bowing in an apparent sign of respect that hid her scowl from Harry.

"Well, I'll leave you to it then. I'll see you at Hogwarts, Harry," he chuckled and waved at the both of them before turning back and going to aid the remaining children.

"Right," Greengrass coughed into her hand, desperately wanting to draw attention away from herself until her embarrassment faded away. "Glamour or Cloak?"

"Cloak," Harry said without taking a second to think about it. Daphne noticed he was still looking at her jacket appreciatively and felt warmth creep into her chest at the look. "I don't want to be carrying the glamour around, and I can always use the Cloak in case something happens."

"I'll wait here for you, then."

Harry nodded and jogged briskly to his room. Daphne used the opportunity to take a couple of deep breaths and center herself. It was just a venture into Muggle London. She was playing the long-game, and she still had cards to play against Granger for that to work out in her favor.

'Remember how impressive _that_ version of Potter was that day. That is the goal,' she thought firmly, steeling herself against slipping up from her plans.

They walked silently to the Leaky Cauldron and arrived at Charing Cross Road when Harry dropped the Invisibility Cloak and turned to her.

"So, where to?" She asked, glancing up and down the street. It was a surprisingly sunny day for the afternoon in London, and the few ventures she had had to the city with her family were brief and objective. There was never much time to dawdle around and appreciate the city.

"I don't know London that well, but I do know that the National Gallery is nearby," he smiled slightly looking at her wide-eyed curiosity. It was so rare to see the Slytherin openly interested in something, and it made him happy. "I know you like Muggle literature, so you should like Muggle art as well."

"Sounds fun," she responded with a small smile and blue eyes twinkling in excitement. Harry extended his arm automatically and she rested her hand delicately on the inside of his forearm, locking strides with him. She knew that this gesture of Pureblood propriety would seem odd in the Muggle world, but she was too happy at how seamlessly he had followed protocol to care. He was growing more and more into the wizard she was envisioning him to be, and she couldn't kill her grin at that thought no matter how hard she tried.

They walked slowly, enjoying their company in silence or glancing into bits of conversation. Daphne would point curiously at a colorful establishment and Harry would say it's a nightclub and he couldn't cast a wandless _Confundo_ so they could enter and get a drink. There would be strange symbols resembling things they would see in Ancient Runes drawn into a shop's windows and they would take a minute to figure out it was a Chinese restaurant. Harry would snicker at how oddly an elderly man passing by was dressed, and Daphne would point out that she was wearing a transfigured overcoat. The conversation was easy and light, with none of the clever barbs they liked exchanging in their private conversations. Not being able to talk about the Wizarding World, they allowed themselves to be surrounded by their environment and casually talk about this or that.

As they finally reached Trafalgar Square, Daphne was struck admiring Nelson's Column and gaping at the sheer amount of people walking around the place. On their way here, they had spontaneously began a game of "Spot the Wizard" whenever they crossed people whose clothing or mannerisms were too similar to what they saw in Diagon Alley for them to think they were Muggles, and Daphne had wondered how those people hadn't got caught, but know she had the answer. There were just _so many_ _people_ in the city; you would never pay attention to the oddness of any given person. What is one person cursing the Daily Prophet when there were thousands of people nearby moaning about their university, or their doctors, or the council, whatever that was. Harry was delicately turning her to face away from the Column and when they turned she couldn't keep her gasp in.

"That's the National Gallery?" She asked, wide-eyed in shock. Harry just nodded amusedly. "This place is this huge, and it's all full of art?"

"I've never been inside before, but I've heard good things," he shrugged. "Want to go in?"

She nodded excitedly, still admiring how big the building was, and Harry couldn't stop from laughing. She didn't even care; she was too taken by how pretty the columns in the museum were or how tall they had built the dome above it. Daphne had learned from her parents to respect how enterprising Muggles could be, but this looked magnificent.

Harry and Daphne walked into the Central Hall and asked for a recommendation from a passing employee. As neither had any clue of what to look for and knew they had no hope of looking at the entire collection, they abided by the recommendation and went to check the Renaissance wing of the museum.

The first thing that Harry noticed was that there were many paintings about the Christian religion in the place. Christianity was not very welcomed in the Wizarding World, understandable when the religion was responsible for burning witches alive, and he briefly wondered if he had made a mistake bringing the traditionalist Daphne here, but she was fascinated by the paintings.

He also noticed how they both appreciated paintings differently. Harry always read the little descriptions next to the art pieces to learn more about the artist or the painting itself, but Daphne looked almost reverently at each painting, and she insisted on spending time looking at the detail of every interesting corner of the museum they would pass by. She almost looked like she was actively restraining herself from touching the paintings and stroking them delicately, and there was barely a word traded between them as she looked at the art.

The further they walked through the rooms in their wing, the less religious the paintings went and more portraits appeared. Harry would read their stories in the little white boxes accompanying the art, but Daphne would try to decipher them just by looking into the paintings themselves, and they would occasionally compare their impressions of each person depicted.

When they reached a particularly large painting, Daphne stopped and stalled completely, gazing adoringly at the details. Harry read the title of the painting absently - _The Family of Darius before Alexander_ , by Paolo Veronese - and looked at Greengrass, who still hadn't released her arm. She seemed transfixed and spent long amounts of time looking at the details of each character depicted in the painting. Harry noted her state of mind and decided to enjoy the details on the art too. Nearest him, he could see how a boy was protectively holding a puppy dog, himself being held closely by his mother, who was protecting a second puppy from the action in the centerpiece, where a regal man was genuflecting before a victorious military general accompanied by his entourage of soldiers and servants. He had just noticed how a small girl dressed as a princess was holding her father's crown absently when Daphne turned to him with a small smile.

She had smiled that shy smile many times since they had first seen each other when he went to buy cauldrons, but never with the sheer amount of emotion apparent in her eyes before. Her eyes were icy blue and generally only allowed to show whichever emotions she was willing to show, but now they were glinting happily and so clearly he couldn't help but be drawn into their gaze.

"I never thought that an unmoving picture could convey so much and so beautifully," she said softly, before turning back to the painting for a brief second. When she turned back to face him again, she was beaming widely, more than he had ever seen her smile. "I'm very happy you brought me here, Harry."

Over their interactions together, Harry had grown fond of Daphne. She had a way of incentivizing a side of him that only Salazar had previously exercised, and her witty and dry remarks showed a clear intelligence that wasn't condescending to those willing to duel her verbally. She was a Pureblood witch without any prejudice against Muggles or Muggle-borns, and she was ambitious, someone who he could see helping him achieve his goals over the next years and decades. But this was the first time that he had glimpsed the normal girl behind the Greengrass Heiress, someone who loved art and literature and who showed such unrestrained joy at being exposed to a different aspect of the world. He figured he rather liked that girl.

"I'm very happy to be here too, Daphne."

* * *

While Harry and Daphne were topping off their evening at a restaurant near Trafalgar Square, Hermione was sitting on her bed with a notebook open near a Tourist's Guide to London and was drawing out the perfect date with Harry. However, whenever she tried to focus on the task at hand, a part of her brain distracted her, and she started to zone out. For the perpetually organized witch, this would be cumbersome if her daydreaming wasn't about the green-eyed wizard that always lived in the forefront of her mind these days.

She was just so proud of Harry. Even taking away all the romantic sentiment from her judgment, the effort he had gone through to give a better opportunity to Muggle-born children would have changed her life if someone had given her a similar opportunity. He had spent so much of his own money and his own time on that, particularly considering that he had freed himself from the Dursley's and could be just traveling around England instead of doing anything productive. He had grown into the potential she had always seen in him and was more confident, imposing, more _Harry_. It was difficult not to start to fall for him with only that alone. If a month and one summer were enough for him to transform from a slightly lazy but fiercely loyal boy to the intelligent, firm, and witty young man she had spent so much time with recently, she couldn't even imagine how he would get when they would finish Hogwarts. They could be Head Boy and Head Girl together and make _excellent_ use of their separate quarters.

But the killer blow for her were the kids. He was an amazing teacher, better than her, and she wasn't afraid to admit it. She knew more than him about some things, but she got lost in tangents too often and sometimes flew by things because they made sense for her but necessarily would make sense for a First Year. He was so good with the students in the building. So patient, and gentle, and good-natured, and knowing, and kind.

' _He is going to be a great father_ ,' she thought - and didn't that bring a supremely goofy smile to her face, as she imagined Harry running after a young girl with his jet black hair and a young boy with her bouncing brown locks, both with his green eyes, the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen. Her smile widened at the idea of their little family. _Hermione Jane Potter_. They would even have the same initials!

Normal Hermione Granger would roll her eyes at how infatuated she was with a boy, but normal Hermione Granger had gotten lost somewhere back at Hogwarts and was nowhere to be found. Greengrass had made her realize just how deeply in love she was with the raven-haired wizard and since then her feelings had gotten worse every day.

In a sense, she was glad for the Slytherin girl. Hermione had insecurities about her behavior sometimes, and there was such a dissonance between herself and the other girls in her Gryffindor dorm that sometimes she didn't feel like a girl. Rationally she knew it was nonsense, and that someone didn't have to act like Lavender or Padma to be girls, and that she could be a woman without caring about the things the two of them were constantly yapping about, but a traitorous part of her brain whispered to her when she tried to sleep at night that she was too weird and bookish to be "a proper girl". Ever since Greengrass had entered into her life and helped her make sense of her feelings, she felt more at peace with her feminity without losing her personality.

That didn't mean that she didn't get infuriated when thinking about how much time the two of them were spending together, and she had noticed that she wasn't the only witch in the building that was practicing the noble art of Harry-watching, but now that thought about it, she was a bit calmer about the whole thing. She had a date with Harry. Even though Greengrass didn't promise she wouldn't pursue Harry, she did say she wasn't entering the game because Hermione had the early lead.

Maybe, Hermione thought, _I_ shouldn't be the one jealous of _her_. It was time _she_ got jealous of _me_.

* * *

Both Harry and Hermione decided independently, as they landed forcefully on the ground, that they hated traveling with portkeys.

"I thought I was the bad one at magical transport," Harry laughed as he extended a hand Hermione eagerly took to help the witch to her feet.

"Laugh it up, Harry Potter," she grumbled good-naturedly. "Next time we take the floo together, I'm not helping you get up from the floor."

The conversations the Weasleys had with them the previous day had barely registered with either of them, who both too tired to spend much time interacting. Still, they had met Bill, who seemed cool, and eating Mrs. Weasley's food was always a delight. Ron was surprisingly pleasant to talk to, and Harry felt a bit guilty at doubting his friend. Percy was his ever sanctimonious self, and the Twins were agitatedly making plans about their future, something Harry was dreading for the sake of Wizarding Britain at large. Harry had been briefly worried about Serena staying stuck in his trunk, but she dismissed his concerns easily.

Ron was laughing at Hermione, and after she caught unto him, he decided to use Harry as a protective shield against Hermione's glare, which made Harry laugh and shake his head. Mr. Weasley was talking to a grumpy looking wizard after depositing the boot in his hand to a large box containing all sorts of mixed junk, presumably portkeys from other groups of people.

The Trio set about in eager conversation about the World Cup - Ron was talking about the semi-finals while Hermione wondered where in England they were - but it was the kind of mangled and confused conversation that he enjoyed whenever it was just the three of them. After a good twenty minutes or so of walking, Harry looked up to see endless rows of tents erected into the horizon. He wondered just how many wizards had come from around the world the see the final.

Mr. Weasley was having some difficulty in paying the clearly Muggle man that was in front of the gates, so Harry decided to help and approached them.

"You're not the first one who's being having trouble with money today," the Muggle said with a hint of amusement, "about ten minutes ago, two of them tried to pay me with these big golden coins."

"Let me help you, Mr. Weasley," Harry interjected before the panicking man dug himself into a deeper hole and violated the Statute of Secrecy. "How much for our lot?"

"A hundred pounds, lad."

"Right," Harry nodded, taking the wallet delicately from Mr. Weasley's hands and taking the purple £20 note and showing it to the fascinated wizard. "It would be five of these, Mr. Weasley."

"Thanks, lad," the Muggle nodded gratefully, pocketing the man and making a tick on his list of reservations. "Never seen so many people pre-booking spots here before. Must be some kind of convention."

"Oh, how come?" Mr. Weasley said, holding out his hand to receive change he hadn't noticed he wouldn't be getting.

"Well, they're dressed oddly, but no one seems to care. Swear I saw one wearing a shower curtain and a top hat," the Muggle shrugged with a small grin. "Whatever tickles your fancy, eh? Go in then. Here's a map of the campsite I've instructed to give you."

Harry followed the Weasley family, amusedly thinking about the game he had played with Daphne just two a few days back. Even in London, a man wearing a shower curtain would get the odd double glance over the shoulder. He amusedly talked to Hermione and Ron and pointed out the most absurd tents in the lot. Amidst two perfectly normal green tents, there was one family which had erected a tent that looked like a silk palace with live peacocks strutting about.

"Is the tent sold _with_ the peacocks, or do you buy separately?" Hermione grinned, making Ron laugh.

"I don't even know where you can buy a peacock," the redhead said, admiring the animal who was looking in their direction.

"Maybe it's rented," Harry smirked. "1 galleon an hour per peacock."

"Hermione, reckon you can transfigure me a peacock suit?" Ron grinned. "I can make a living out of that rate."

"Why not just make you into a peacock directly, Ronald?" Hermione said sweetly, pressing her wand into her palm menacingly.

"Oi! Harry, cover me."

They were so distracted that Harry hadn't noticed that he had accidentally bumped into Ginny, who looked flustered at the contact. After apologizing and listening to a slightly stammered acceptance of the apology, he turned to Mr. Weasley to see him battling where to put the pegs and poles while Fred was holding the mallet and glancing conspiratorially at George. Before either of them could make a mess of things, Hermione grabbed the mallet and pushed Harry's arm for him to help as they both listened to Mr. Weasley's amazement at how the Muggles operated their "machinery".

"We'll be a bit cramped," Mr. Weasley said. Harry and Hermione exchanged a glance, and he barely suppressed a snort. The tent looked Muggle alright, but it did not fit ten people at all, even under the Weasley's peculiar understanding of the appropriate distribution of living space. "But we'll fit right in."

As Harry entered the tent, he felt his jaw drop slightly. The place was enormous - because of course, the interior would bigger than the exterior, _magic_ \- with at least three floors, a kitchen, and several bathrooms.

"How come Diagon Alley isn't full of shops inside tents like these?" Harry said weakly to himself.

"It takes a lot of magic to sustain a wizard-space for long," Mr. Weasley said brightly from behind him. "That's why people don't live in trunks very often. It takes a lot of ambient magic to keep it running, or else it collapses, and I don't think anyone would risk their livelihoods because Diagon Alley isn't sufficiently full of magicals walking along on a Tuesday. This one here is temporary, borrowed from a friend from the Ministry; they put loads of Charms around the place to feed magic into the tents."

After they all got settled, Ron, Harry, and Hermione went out to explore before they got assigned any of the tasks that Mr. Weasley seemed dedicated to performing the Muggle way. Ron seemed more or less comfortable in the environment, but both Harry and Hermione were taken by the volume of people around them. Wizards and witches were in the absolute minority in the world, and Harry had figured that a significant portion of the magical population of Britain must be in attendance. Salazar had estimated that the magical population of the world was between a million and two, but Harry had begun to wonder if there weren't more.

"Look, a wizard child," Hermione whispered in his ear, pointing discreetly to a pair of children holding hands with a sluggish looking man. The children looked to be maybe three or four and each held a plush toy; one held a blue unicorn and the other a red hippogriff that looked rather cute.

"What's so special about that?" Ron asked confusedly.

"Well, we have never seen a baby wizard before," Hermione pointed out. Harry agreed with a stunned nod, thinking that that child might have very well been him had things turned out differently in 1981.

Harry caught conversations in so many languages he was feeling disoriented, but the feeling of nervous excitement permeated the air wherever they went. Ron was dreamily looking at a group of French young witches and almost stumbled on a group of passing wizards because he wasn't paying attention, while Hermione seemed engrossed in taking in the diverse groups of magicals around her, occasionally singling out interesting things for Harry ("look at the long robes those three are wearing, I don't recognize that fabric," or "what animal is that?", or "have you heard of this Salem Witches' Institute?").

"Oi! Ron! Harry! Hermione!" a voice behind them called animatedly a few seconds after they crossed into a group of tents covered in an unnatural amount of shamrocks.

"Seamus!" Ron said happily, striding forward to greet his mate. They had both gotten closer at the end of the last term, and it showed at the excitement with which they talked. Harry and Hermione shared an amused glance and followed them.

"Liking the decorations?" Seamus grinned somewhat viciously. "The Ministry's pissed!"

"Can't imagine why," Ron snorted. "They get pissy with everything. At least you don't live with Percy sprouting on about the thickness of cauldrons, mate."

"Blimey," the Irishman winced, "that sounds grim."

"Not as grim as the Bulgarian tents up there," said Mrs. Finnegan, pointing at a bunch of dark-looking tents up a hill. "Got no sense of style, those Bulgarians. You should root for Ireland, eh? We have personality."

The three of them went off to check how the Bulgarian tents were set up and Harry had to admit that they looked rather uninviting. Every single tent was decorated with a moving poster of a single man in Quidditch uniform scowling uglily at passerby. Harry noticed with some level of amusement that if the passersby were wearing a Bulgarian shirt, the player on the poster gave a much more respectful nod.

While Ron and Hermione debated the merits of Viktor Krum, who supposedly was the Bulgarian Seeker depicted on the posters, Harry stole the map from Ron's hands and was delighted to see that it pointed to their current location with a cheery "YOU ARE HERE" red dot and highlighted the Weasley plot with an X that seemed inspired by a pirate's map to a secret treasure.

When they reached their tent again, Fred and George were staring confusedly at a box of matches, wondering how to make them catch fire.

"You lot got quite slippery," said George, handing the box fully over to his twin. "Escaped just before you got water duty, Dad had to conjure water and was enormously disappointed."

Harry just grinned and waved unrepentantly, which seemed to amuse the Twins enough that they just asked for help with the matches, something Hermione was more than happy to provide.

When the rest of the Weasley clan apparated directly into their lot, they started to form little groups of conversations. Harry got caught up in a three-way conversation between Bill and Hermione about the use of Ancient Runes in curse-breaking, with him contributing what little he could from the material he had read to catch up to the Fourth Year level. Hermione seemed rather pleased with one of his comments and was about to expand on what he had just said when he heard Mr. Weasley calling for him.

"Ah, Harry, come here a second," he said animatedly, gesturing at a large man wearing eye-watering yellow and black Quidditch robes and smiling widely after doing the mandatory "discreet" glance at his lightning scar. "This here is Ludo Bagman, the Head of the Department of Magical Sports and Games, who has provided us with our good tickets."

"How are you, Harry? Very pleased to meet you!" He said in a happy and booming voice, shaking his hand with a vice grip that reminded him painfully of Hagrid's hugs.

"Good to meet you too, sir."

"Good to hear it! I was just here making a bet with the Twins over there on the result of the match!" He said conspiratorially but loudly at the same time. The man seemed physically incapable of speaking with an inside voice. "Up to some action?"

Before Harry could reject the offer politely, a stern and impatient voice sounded from behind the large man. "Really, Ludo? Betting with the public? I have been looking for you to accommodate a request from the Bulgarian Ministry."

Harry noticed how Percy seemed to preen at the presence of this new voice, and after he glanced at his appearance, the preening made a lot of sense. Frankly, the new presence in their camp looked like the poster boy for Ministry bureaucracy, with his impeccable suit and tie and stiff posture.

"Ah, Barty! It's just a bit of fun on the side," Bagman said with a beaming smile.

"Well, we have work to do. Do your business on the side later. Goodbye, Arthur. Gentlemen."

"Goodbye, Mr. Crouch," Mr. Weasley said with a polite nod. Looking at Harry's confused expression, he answered the unspoken question. "That is Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Most known for being Head of the DMLE a while back. A rather ruthless fellow, firmly in the side of the Light, but ruthless all the same."

Harry nodded and went back to the tent. He only got out when everyone marched up to the stadium itself. Hermione and Ron bought a bunch of things in the shops leading up to the stadium, but Harry, mindful of his money ever since having commissioned the dagger that was currently in his trunk at the Burrow, chose to simply enjoy the game, except for a pair of Omnioculars.

As they climbed their way to the Top Box, Harry noted the massive amount of people around the stadium. A hundred thousand seats, according to Mr. Weasley. Percy had excitedly told the group about the many months of work the Ministry had put into building and covering the whole structure with powerful Notice-Me-Not Charms. Harry sat down in a nearby seat and was quickly surrounded by Ron and Hermione on either side.

"Oh, there's a house-elf right there," Ron pointed out at Harry. "Looks like Dobby, Harry?"

"Eh, just about. The clothes are better."

"Really? Huh."

Hermione had been too engrossed by the stadium itself to noticed anything, and before she could see their sole companion on the Top Box, a stream of people entered at once, including Cornelius Fudge and the Bulgarian Minister, followed by the Malfoy family. After some introductions in which Harry was sorely tempted to hex the smarmy Minister after what he tried to with Sirius, and some snipping from Lucius Malfoy at Arthur, Draco tried to sneer at Harry, but after weeks of long conversations with Daphne, the boy's attitude was lacking. His father remained interesting.

"Mr. Malfoy, I have been rather remiss to not have asked this before, but have you managed to get yourself a new servant?" Harry asked with an innocent smile, making Draco blink confusedly at the question and snapping Lucius' attention away from his creepy gazing at Hermione.

"I'm afraid that good servants are hard to find these days," the man answered with a silky voice, but Harry could see the way the grip on his cane tightened.

"I wouldn't know," Harry beamed, "I've made a wonderful friend out of him, but I'm afraid he rather dislikes you. Can't imagine why. I wonder if he'll be inclined to review his opinion of you after I tell you about this generous donation to St. Mungos that Minister Fudge was telling us about."

"He wouldn't have the intelligence to understand my actions, I'm afraid, Mr. Potter," the man said, seemingly unperturbed, but internally seething.

"You don't have to have much intelligence to understand, though, do you?" Harry said in a more somber note, dismissing the fake smile in favor of a cold stare and threatening voice. "Just deep pockets and a malleable accountant."

"Gentlemen, let's enjoy the festivities," Fudge said in a strained voice, fidgeting with his bowler hat. "Ludo, I think we're quite ready, aren't we?"

As the man started the narration of the game, Ron turned to Harry with wide eyes. "Blimey, that was amazing. I don't think I could've done that."

Harry shrugged bashfully, noticing that the entire Weasley family was looking at him with surprise, and Hermione was looking at him _really_ intensely. "I figured that I have something of a silver tongue."

"More of a golden tongue, Harrikins," George smirked from his seat.

Harry just grinned and turned to the match, which hadn't yet started. He noticed that Hermione was looking at his mouth oddly.

"Hermione, you okay?" He asked worriedly, startling the young witch who blushed mightly. "You feeling sick? You seem out of it."

"No, I'm fine," she croaked out, still red in the face. "Just really overwhelmed by the number of people here."

"If you say so," Harry said disbelievingly but accepting the answer for what it was.

Suddenly Harry was invaded with a feeling of calm bliss like everything was going to be okay in the world. He felt in the flow of things, naturally at ease with his environment. He tried to puzzle out what had made him feel such a thing when he looked at the hundred women that were gliding onto the field, all of whom were unnaturally beautiful. Inhumanly so. This made Harry get a bit on edge, particularly because he had felt this calm feeling before. It was the same bliss he felt whenever he achieved a particularly powerful feat of magic in the training room he used to practice the book on curses written by Rookwood with Daphne, and _that_ put a quick damper on the feeling he was getting. He had quickly realized in his training that giving in to that feeling was the dangerous first step in the direction of losing yourself to the temptation of power, and this was too similar - giving yourself to the temptation of pleasure.

He snapped out of it a couple of seconds after it started to see Ron try to go closer so he could jump over the railings to be closer to the women. The twins were similarly affected but were resisting the jump slightly better. He noticed with some surprised that both Malfoy Sr. and Mr. Weasley were as unaffected as him, although the British Minister had glazed eyed and a bit of drool coming from the corner of his mouth.

"Harry," Hermione said softly, staring at him in amazement. "You aren't affected?"

"By the women?" Harry asked confused, still not making heads or tails of it.

"They're veela, Harry," Mr. Weasley said while pulling Ron away from the railings, his son still staring open-mouthed at the women below. "They emit a magical allure that captures the attention of the opposite sex and seduces them. Similar to sirens, I suppose. You can only be immune if you are already deeply in love with someone or if you are an especially resilient person."

"So which is it, Harrikins?" Fred said sultrily after recovering from the allure.

"Does a witch have your heart already, ickle Harry?" George added on from behind with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows.

"Will you stop it, you two," Ginny said angrily, hitting them both on the head.

Harry watched as various emotions flicked through Hermione's face, too many to count. Despair, hope, joy, terror, and other things seemed to overwhelm her before she merely looked away as if trying to analyze the veela closer.

Not having enough time to dissect what was happening, Harry got distracted by Bagman's booming voice and the roar of the crowd announcing the beginning of the match.

Harry quickly came to appreciate the Omnioculars he had bought, because without them he wouldn't be able to make heads or tails of the game unfolding in front of him. It gave him helpful little tidbits about what the players were doing, and made looking for the Quaffle a much easier prospect. There were only two things Harry was sure of without the magical aid: the Irish Chasers were truly exceptional, and Krum was the best flyer he had ever seen.

Both Ginny and Hermione looked horrified as Lynch, the Irish Seeker, plowed into the ground after a feint from Krum, but his revival came quickly and easily. The following minutes were a mess of goals, penalties, allure-related shenanigans, and confused expressions from those without an Omnioculars, and by the time Lynch dived sharply and Krum followed firmly on his tail, the match was slipping into Irish hands.

Harry winced and Hermione shrieked as Lynch hit the ground a second time, and Krum just barely got spared a similar fate before he extended his arm high and showed the Snitch firmly on his grasp.

"IRELAND WINS", shouted Bagman in tandem with thousands of screaming fans, "KRUM GETS THE SNITCH - BUT IRELAND WINS - talk about an expected result!"

"Why would he do that?" Ron bellowed despite his clear enthusiasm for the match. "The idiot caught the Snitch when Ireland was 160 points ahead!"

"He wanted to end it on his own terms," Harry responded over the roar of the crowd as Ireland did a victory lap.

The rest of the ceremony passed in a blur. The twins seemed delighted for some reason, and instantly made a beeline for Bagman, but after the match ended, Harry noticed just how tired he was. All the cheering and shouting had taken a toll.

* * *

Harry was dozing off in a bunk bed when a loud noise outside broke through his sleep and made him wake up in a hurry. It wasn't the noise of cheers and chants he had heard on the way back or the partying that kept him awake despite how tired he felt after they reached their tent.

Those were screams of terror.

Grabbing his wand for precaution and quickly grabbing a jacket, Harry stepped outside his room and went outside the tent to find a bleary Mr. Weasley confusedly doing the same.

"I'll check on it, Mr. Weasley," Harry said, pushing his way to the outside. "I'll let you know if you need to call the others."

"Alright, Harry, I'll wait here," he mumbled whilst rubbing his eyes, not thinking properly from lack of sleep. Harry knew that under any other circumstances, terrified yelling would not be conducive to him being able to walk calmly to the outside.

When Harry left the tent, he was instantly hit with an odd situation. He could still listen to some drunken jeering and the occasional chant from somewhere around him, but the majority of the noise was coming from a place where fires were burning mightly in the distance. It was too bright to be a camping fire, and when he stretched his neck he could see a pack of wizards walking in groups and lighting fires to nearby tents and flinging curses in odd directions. Squinting at them, he noticed they were all hooded and masked, and the groups were spreading out, forcing people to flee unprepared for the woods. He also noticed that a group of those hooded wizards was levitating two very small figures over a roaring fire and laughing heartily at their terrified screams.

"They're going for the Mudbloods," a voice said gleefully behind him. It was Draco, smiling at the sight in front of him. Harry felt sick at the joy in his voice. "Better get Granger out of here in hurry, Potter. Mudbloods stick out like sore thumbs."

"I don't think they're discriminating their targets, Malfoy," Harry said dryly, trying to think of how best to act in this situation.

"Stick around if you're so confident," he said with a malicious grin.

"I don't have time for this," Harry muttered _._ Betting that there were too many wizards around for this to register on the Trace, he grabbed his wand. " _Stupefy_."

Enjoying the shocked expression on the blonde's face as he fell unconscious, Harry went into the tent where Mr. Weasley was almost dozing off on the couch.

"Mr. Weasley, it's a riot. Wake everyone up."

The man woke up in a snap second and ran out to the nearest room, yelling at everyone to get out of their rooms, grab a jacket and run. Bill, Charlie, and Percy were the first ones out, all with their wands already in their hands. Going outside the tent before anyone could object, Harry stepped into a much more dangerous situation.

A group of four of the hooded wizards stood disturbingly close to the Weasley tent. None of them were facing the tent itself, but they were all close enough for Harry to see the details on their dark masks glinting against the fire of burning tents. More worryingly for Harry, the particularly burly of the quartet of attackers was aiming his wand directly to the head of a crying toddler, who was clutching a red hippogryph to his chest protectively. Remembering the kid being happy with his brother and father just hours before, all the calculations Harry had been making in the back of his mind about concealing his power went out the window. Fortunately for him, he had at least remembered to not cast in Parseltongue.

" _Flagello Ignis_ ," he roared, watching as a solid stream of fire formed on his wand and gripped around the wand arm of the attacker, who yelped in pain at the burning sensation and made him drop his wand. Remembering the move he had theorized after reading Rookwood's book, Harry wandlessly cast a weak _Diffindo_ that barely cut through the fire whip and quickly cast a Sticking Charm to glue the whip to a pebble nearby. Assuming the dueling position he learned from Flitwick, he pointed his wand and summoned the wand from his fallen opponent.

Just in time for him to pocket the wand, he had to pivot out of his dominant foot as a red curse breezed by his chest. Using his momentum, he flicked his wand upwards and snarled, " _Confringo"_. The bright orange light roared to meet one of the wizards, who cast a shield in time to protect himself but was pushed back with enough force that he bumped into the wizard behind him, who had just cast a _Bombarda_ that went short and didn't harm Harry.

Seeing the flying pieces of rock and debris flying to the air from the missed curse, he cast a quick _Flagrante_ at the debris in front of him before banishing it to the direction of the wizards. Not expecting the burning from the curse, they merely dodged the larger pieces of rock before screaming in pained surprised as their exposed skin began to burn. It was not enough to get any of them out of the fight, but they all missed their attacking window.

Before Harry had time to respond, Bill and Charlie came out of the tent looking attentive, while Percy escorted the younger Weasleys.

"Bill, Charlie, we're going to have to fight through this one. Percy, get them to the woods _now_ ," Harry said decisively, talking over his shoulder and shielding a couple of curses that _clanged_ loudly. He used the opportunity to reset his pivot to the more comfortable dominant position.

" _Aquamenti_ ," cast Charlie, followed by a quick " _Glacius_ " from Bill, almost as if they were training the simple combination for this exact scenario. The frozen water made it more difficult for their attackers to move, but one of them had the idea of using an underpowered Blasting Curse to free themselves from the water.

"Harry, come with us now," Mr. Weasley said, grasping Harry's shoulder. Harry shrugged it off and pointed to the still crying child on the floor.

"I was holding them off before, I'm holding them off now. _Fulminis_!" Harry shouted the last word, watching as a lightning bolt struck the last of the water still not affected by the Blasting Curses. Admittedly, the lightening was not overpowered; it was very difficult to confidently cast the spell indoors and Rookwood's book mentioned it as being highly volatile whenever cast with significant force, so he hadn't had the opportunity to practice very often, but it was enough to zap one of the attackers enough for them to drop their wands. "Summon the wand for evidence!" Harry shouted, pivoting his way quickly out of another curse. Percy caught on and did so, yelping in surprise when one of two wizards still with a wand cast a quick _Expelliarmus_ and returned the wand to its owner, who grunted in acknowledgment.

"Charlie, shield me and Harry, we're going on the offensive. Dad, go now, you might meet resistance on the way to the forest."

Mr. Weasley hesitated to leave Harry with his two eldest sons but seeing the terrified expression on Ginny's face, who was being flanked by either twin, he nodded briskly and herded them all out of the tent. Hermione shot a terrified glance in Harry's direction before being pushed out of the way by Percy.

In the commotion, Harry hadn't noticed the Cutting Curse heading towards him in time and had to break his pivot and twist to avoid it hitting the center of his body. It ended up hitting his thigh and he hissed in pain as blood trickled down his leg.

"Damnit, Charlie, fucking shields!" Harry complained as he adjusted his position and cast another _Confringo_ that was shielded with difficulty by another wizard. By that point, the first wizard who Harry had immobilized had found a fallen wand on the ground and was armed, but was using the left arm as his wand arm dangled uselessly on his side.

"Had no time!" He yelled over the noise of the various curses that were pelting on the shield now that the attackers had landed a hit and decided to go on the offensive.

Bill cast an overpowered _Incendio_ that was met with an _Aquamenti_ from one of the four attackers. A mist of hot vapor filled the air, concealing them slightly. Knowing he no longer had to play point defense to protect the tent, Harry began to move, using the mist as cover. Getting the same idea, Bill did the same in the opposite direction, casting Blasting Curses to direct the attacks to him whilst leaving Harry open.

Harry decided to conceal himself further before the vapor faded away and cast _"Fumos_ " while the fight had gotten more focused on the two elder Weasleys. Knowing that the mist would soon be dispelled by _Ventus_ , Harry gathered as much magic as he could in preparation. When one of the attackers finally did so, he focused his magic and cast the brightest _Lumos_ he could, blinding everyone as their vision shifted quickly from obscure fog to impossible brightness in less than a second. Harry, the only one prepared, used the distance he had traveled and the overall confusion of those around him to finally be able to cast in Parseltongue without drawing attention to himself.

" _Expulso_ " he hissed, watching as an enormous blue light shot out of his wand and exploded the ground between all four attackers. Only the one in the back had the presence of mind to cast a _Protego_ the moment he had been blinded. The wizard closest to the blast, the same one Harry had burned previously, hit his head on the ground and got knocked unconscious. The two other attackers hit the ground with powerful grunts and let go of their wands. Bill recovered quickly and cast two _Stupefy_ on the fallen attackers.

Before anything else could be done against the sole attacker remaining, a roar of " _MORSMORDRE_ " echoed behind them all. Fearing an attack on his back, Harry twisted his hips so that he could turn on a dime and use his wand in both directions quickly. Bill and Charlie didn't think of it and simply turned around and gasped as an enormous skull appeared in the sky, with a serpent popping out of his mouth like a tongue. Harry goggled at the strange symbol on the sky, forgetting his lessons with Flitwick as terrified screams rang throughout the trees once more.

They heard a noise and turned back only to see the attacker still standing grabbing both stupefied allies - securing their wands - and portkeying out of there, leaving only the one unconscious attacker behind, with his wand still on Harry's pocket.

The two Weasleys and Harry looked at each other, all of them drenched in sweat from the exertion of the fight, Harry still bleeding from the cut of the thigh, the adrenaline coursing through his veins blocking out the pain.

"What the fuck just happened?" Charlie said after a beat of silence.


	18. Sweet Dreams

**Chapter Eighteen - Sweet Dreams**

* * *

As the rest of the Weasley family was sleeping fitfully, Harry and Bill were sitting across a wooden table in silence at the Burrow. Bill opened his bag and floated five incense candles to circle the table, lighting them up silently with his wand as they came, one by one, in his direction.

There was very little reason for the two of them to be talking. Presumably, Harry would talk to Mr. Weasley, who had his experiences of previous decades to give. Or maybe Mrs. Weasley, mothering as she may be, who perhaps had felt lost more keenly than any other member of the family.

Instead, it was Bill and Harry.

Somehow, Harry was comfortable with the older man. Bill had an aura of calm confidence about him as if nothing could truly shake him off his game. In some ways, he didn't resemble a Weasley in the traditional sense. Harry associated the Weasley family with rambunctiousness, liveliness, warmth, and hearth. Bill was friendly and amicable, as the entire family was in their own way, but he was cool in both senses of the word. Stylish and composed. Dragon earrings, but also well-tailored clothes and a perfect posture.

The oldest Weasley son was the model of what an impressionable teenage boy would admire. Harry wasn't very impressionable anymore, not in any meaningful way. But the inner child remains for far longer than your innocence when dealing with a formidable older member of your generation. It was hard for Harry not to look up to the man.

"I didn't think I'd ever do this with you," Harry admitted after they spent several minutes quietly appreciating the smells of magical incense.

"Do you have someone else to do it with?" He asked in a kind, soft voice.

"We always have choices," Harry said with an empty gaze towards the incense spinning closest to him. "But you felt best."

"I guess my family isn't very much into internal contemplation," Bill chuckled lowly and sighed wearily. "Even though we may need it more than most."

"How come you are so different?"

"From them, or everybody else?"

"Both, I guess."

"Well," he breathed heavily, leaning back into his chair. "The easy answer is that meditation is an important tool for Curse-Breakers, and meditation changes you."

"What about the correct answer?" Harry asked after a beat of silence. Bill chuckled again.

"You're smarter than you give away, aren't you, Harry?" He asked before looking upwards with his arms crossed. "In Gringotts, we work with wizards from all across the world. When I was beginning my career with the goblins, they assigned me to be an apprentice with an older Thai woman. The entire time we worked together, she never taught me anything about Curse-Breaking. Instead, she sat me down, lit up some incense from home, and we talked.

"In the beginning, the conversations were stilted," Bill smirked, facing Harry again. "Englishmen are very emotionally unintelligent in general, and I was no different. My mindset prioritized work, thinking that the adventure could give me meaning in life. That through discovering the unknown mysteries of the world, that I could find myself. There's nothing wrong with finding fulfillment in your profession, but I don't think any sense of self can come from your work. As time went on, I was exposed more and more to her beliefs. What do you know about Buddhism, Harry?"

"Almost nothing beyond the name," he answered quietly.

"I'm not a Buddhist," Bill intoned softly. "So don't take my word for it. But there's a concept in Buddhism that fascinated me. Maranasati. Sometimes it is summed up as _meditation is the preparation for death_."

They both shared a compassionate silence as both Harry and Bill spared a minute of silence for the people in their lives they had both lost.

"Contemplation about death is a morbid thing at first," Bill admitted with a weak grin. "It is unpleasant, coming from our perspective. I don't believe in Buddhist rebirth or nirvana, so thinking about death was thinking about nothingness, a vacuum of sentiment. Dumbledore likes to refer to dying as the Next Great Adventure. A Frenchman at Gringotts once spoke to me the words of a painter and scholar from his country. ' _I go to seek a Great Perhaps,_ ' he said. I admired the wisdom in his words, but every time I thought of death in those terms, I felt a terrible coil churning in my gut."

"I don't like thinking about it much. It reminds me of-" Harry hesitated before reminding himself that this session was something he had asked to have. "Of my parents."

"That's understandable," Bill nodded minutely. "Very few people with your background could be able to reflect on death and feel no discomfort. But mindfulness of death is what made me change, Harry. We see amazing things happen every day with a flick of our wands, but nothing we can do can make death go away forever. People appear, and then they die. Our ego tries to inflate our importance and cry about how we're exceptional cases, but we're not.

"I think I'm the only member of this family that has truly accepted that," Bill continued with unfocused eyes. "Understanding that there is nothing I can do to pluck away at the clutches of the Veil made it far easier for me to think about who I am underneath all my experiences. Mum never overcame the death of her brothers - and she became so suffocating with the idea of losing her children that both Charlie and I left the country as soon as we could. Dad, Hecate bless him, is so excited about the workings of daily things that he chooses not to contemplate much beyond what he sees and hears. Percy seems to work under the impression that he can build a legacy so vast that he can hide all of his problems underneath it and never think of them again. The twins hide pain and insecurity behind pranks and boundless energy. And Ron and Ginny are too young and too pampered not to be immature."

"I've come close to death many times," Harry replied softly. "I don't fear it much, but the idea makes me uncomfortable. Do you think that reflecting on it might help me figure out who I am and what I believe in?"

"It helped me, but it's hard to say," Bill admitted with a soft shrug before looking at Harry with a shrewd expression. "Have you ever fallen in love?"

"Not really," Harry answered with some confusion apparent in his voice.

"When most people realize they've fallen in love, there's no _click_ moment," Bill answered with a snap of his fingers. "There's no _bang_ or sounds of angels inside your head. You go to the cafeteria to get a pumpkin pastie, and suddenly you get it. You're in love. Self-realization is a lot like that. It's too complicated a concept to be easily understood until you get it. And then you do."

"That makes it seem so impossibly distant," Harry frowned, looking at his lap.

"There's no such thing as distance towards self-realization. If I can give you an example of something similar?" Harry nodded, so Bill continued. "I am not a happy person. Not to mean that I am sulking or depressive, but being a happy person implies a state of permanence. There's a very famous Muggle book called _Anna Karenina,_ whose very first sentence is this: ' _All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.'_ It implies that you can achieve happiness under a series of prerequisite steps and that to be unhappy, you must fail at least one. I don't think that's true because the concept of everlasting happiness is so brittle. The Weasleys are almost a perfect definition of a big wizarding family, but you've been here before. Sometimes the twins go a little too far, or Mum yells a little too loud, or Ron lazies about for a little too long, or Ginny complains a little too much. Seeking happiness is futile because it's a spectrum of complicated and imperfect human feelings.

"I no longer seek happiness in my life. I seek meaning. Constantly. Self-fulfillment is never-ending. I do things I find interesting. Being interested is far better than being happy, I think."

Harry nodded. The ethics book he had been reading on and off the entire summer had given him a great deal of anxiety about finding out his beliefs. Harry found some answers, but many more questions. He had found out what he _didn't_ believe in, but there were so many options to choose from that choice by elimination was impossible. It still felt useful to contemplate the motives of others, but Harry seemed to slip between the cracks of clear-cut definitions, unlike Sirius. Perhaps, even Sirius was too complex to define easily, and it was just Harry's distant gaze that didn't allow him to see the details that would disprove any labels.

Would thinking about death be the way to go to find out more about himself? Harry was unsure.

"Can you tell me more about meditation?" He asked Bill after contemplating his doubts for a while.

"About Maranasati or just meditation?"

"Just meditation, please."

"Of course," Bill smiled gently. "To meditate is vital for any wizard. A lot of magic is emotional. Hence, accidental magic when we're children. Even after we reach the point where it doesn't happen anymore, understanding what your emotions are trying to tell you can make certain phenomena much easier. For instance, as a student in Hogwarts, I've seen Dumbledore truly angry just once. When he gets furious, you can feel the air around him get hotter, and there's this pressure on your limbs that makes it difficult for you to move. That's not just the contrast between the nice old Headmaster and the Defeater of Grindelwald. It's his magic asserting itself. Ron told me that you cast a corporeal Patronus, right?"

"I learned it from Professor Lupin this past year," Harry confirmed proudly, making Bill chuckle.

"Well, that is one example of understanding your emotions well. In that case, you understood the feeling of joy and used it to fabricate a Patronus charm. Meditating about emotions, which seems to be the most useful practice for your self-understanding, is to do that with _every_ feeling." Bill hesitated before continuing in a softer voice. "There are other things that meditation can teach you regarding magic and the Mind Arts, but this is not the place for that discussion."

"I see," Harry nodded. He had never heard of the Mind Arts before, but he could always ask Salazar when he returned to Hogwarts. This talk with Bill was about self-understanding anyway, not about esoteric fields of magic.

"Can I do anything more for you, Harry?" Bill asked kindly.

Harry looked at the older man. At this point, there was no more incense burning still, and only their faint aroma lingered in the air. "I don't know. I don't understand it fully."

"I didn't expect you to," he chuckled. "It's a complicated thing, and you're still young. Go to sleep, Harry. Magical incense often leads to very vivid dreams. Perhaps they will tell you something important, or maybe it will just be a cool trip. I need to get rid of this maskless existence that I've used for this conversation and get back to being Cool Big Brother Bill."

Harry laughed softly before smiling bashfully. "Thanks, Bill. I appreciate it."

"Don't mention it, Harry. Seriously, don't. Mum would kill me."

* * *

Harry allowed himself to sleep. He somehow knew he wasn't awake, but also was sure this wasn't a regular dream. Harry could feel shallow grass prickling away at his back, and when Harry moved his legs, a dry branch snapped under his weight. Sitting up and slowly opening his eyes, he found himself in a large cemetery.

There were crooked gravestones all around in a seemingly endless field. Most of them were not ornate, merely bearing strange names written in languages she didn't recognize. Some graves were grand and tall, full of decorative touches and homages to once-past greatness, surrounded by black fences of linked spears a meter long protecting it from some unknown foe. But they were all strangely crooked, some cracked in lightning-like patterns, others embraced by moss, and others still were torn asunder, being unrecognizably dreary. Different trees - all dark and foreboding - sometimes appeared in the distance. In particular, a gigantic English yew shone far away, the moon oddly glistening between its dark branches, devoid of all leaves.

Harry listlessly walked towards the tree, for no other landmark was more appealing. Not that the tree itself looked very welcoming. The English yew tree symbolized death and rebirth in Celtic culture, and that meaning had carried over into modern European mythos. It didn't take a genius to see that the tree marked something important. In this confusing place, there was nowhere else to go.

And so he went.

As he approached the tree, he was startled to see flocks of crows suddenly appearing out of nowhere and flying towards the yew. Harry vaguely recalled that a collective of crows was called a _murder_. It would otherwise be amusing if he weren't in a strange cemetery in the middle of nowhere with no way to go back to the Burrow.

Harry was strangely not freaking out about the whole thing, which was frankly surprising. Any regular person would have been out of their depth in this situation, not to mention creeped the fuck out. Even adjusting for the Harry-Potter-Weirdness-Scale, the experience was still haunting. But deep down, he mostly felt that he just had to reach that tree.

As he approached the tree, surprised by the sheer amount of crows in the area - there must have been hundreds of the birds, as if the place needed any other hints that here lay a connection to death - a sound echoed from behind him, making him turn and assume a pivot instinctively. It sounded like a piano, but not exactly. It was as if someone made a celestial piano, built from the fabric of nature itself, adorned with the clouds, and strung with an angel's harp, making the sound a pure and innocent version of a grand piano. Still, the sound was utterly inhumane, and it was to his ever-increasing shock that it was coming out of a crow's beak.

Each note of that majestic instrument emerged from a different bird, and each animal perched itself patiently on whatever surface they could find. The crows sang the piano notes harmonically for many seconds, entrancing the young wizard with the sound. He could not tear his eyes away from the bizarre sight, and his ears drummed pleasantly with the echoes of their song. Suddenly a burst of wind and a bright silver light emanated from behind, blinding him for a brief second.

Lightly massaging closed eyelids with his fists, he turned, still paying attention to the sounds of the crows, which now included a flute-like melody arranged in a strangely upbeat and hopping tune. As he opened his eyes, with tears stinging the corners of his eyes from that blinding light, Harry froze.

In that place, in which he was sure nothing stood barely a minute ago, were two figures, a man bowing politely and a woman curtseying lightly. The woman was closest and called attention to herself. Her skin glowed slightly in the lunar light, with a tall and slender body enveloped in a long sleeveless red dress, her arms covered in long satin white gloves that ended far above her elbows, allowing just the barest part of her arm to show in the night. The dress ended in flowing layers of billowing and darkening burgundy that kissed the ground elegantly. Harry could not see her face, for she was not facing the young wizard, but he could see that her hair was braided and long, and as red as her dress. She looked like one of the characters from a Jane Austen novel that Salazar liked to read.

The man facing that mysterious woman was far more unsettling. He wore long black robes pinned to his shoulders that also traveled down to his boots. Underneath the robes were thick pads of what looked like fortified snakeskin covering his torso, with each scale shining a different tone of grey. He wore black snakeskin pants, and his boots reeked of militarism and made a powerful echo as he stepped in the grass, as if they were marble and not plant. His face was aristocratic and firm, with high cheekbones and a pointed chin, but the eyes were pure and bottomless black as if they were the portals to a black hole, to which even the whites of his eyes seemed drawn. What most unsettled Harry was not his eyes, however, but what was strapped to his back languidly but unyieldingly as he circled the strange red woman. It was a scythe.

He was Death. For the first time since arriving here, Harry felt dread creeping into his body. ' _Did I die?_ ' he thought frantically, wondering if something had happened between his conversation with Bill and now.

Uncaring for his mortality, the two figures approached each other, and as they touched, the menagerie of crows started flying in circles around the three of them, and their song grew in volume and complexity. The piano and flute continued playing, but various other sounds accompanied them. A whistle, a violin, cellos, and clarinets all made their music, and the tornado of crows around them also made stranger sounds; sounds as inhuman and as unimaginable as a new visible color being born into the world.

The figures danced and weaved around each other in strange patterns, waltz turning into tango and then into something bewildering and indescribable - a whirlwind of limbs and touches and caresses and twirls. The gentleness and warmth emanating from both figures broke through Harry's fear and rebooted his brain. The woman's eyes were sky blue, and her smile was warm and inviting. The man's eyes betrayed no emotion, and while his face was stoic and firm, his touches held none of the inevitability of having to die, and his movements showed none of its morbidity.

As the music faded away, both figures faced one another and gazed into the other's eyes. The woman began grinning, and the man furrowed his eyebrows. As they turned to the apprehensive wizard staring at them, the woman's grin turned into a beaming smile, and the man's frown deepened. Both figures glanced between them one last time before the man turned away and faded into nothingness in a burst of smoke and black light, and the woman approached Harry gently. When the woman finally reached him, she gently lifted his chin to force eye contact, and sky blue eyes met emerald green.

The red woman touched his forehead, and darkness consumed them both.

* * *

When Harry woke up, he was mightily confused. Assuring that Ron was still deeply asleep, he went to his trunk and played with Serena for a minute before retrieving his notebook and noting down in Parseltongue everything he could remember from the dream using his enchanted quill.

Mrs. Weasley was already up, as was Bill, who gave him a cheeky grin, doubtlessly enjoying the visibly astounded expression on the younger man's face.

"Oh, Harry dear, up so early? Did you have any nightmares from the Quidditch World Cup?" She asked the last question as if the answer was already known and immediately moved to pat his down as if the act would rid him of any lingering malcontents plaguing his mind. "I cannot believe Arthur left you there to fight with _Death Eaters_."

"Don't worry, Mrs. Weasley, I slept great!" He smiled widely, knowing it would distract her from the train of thought that was rolling down the tracks from that second point. Allowing that one to run by freely would invite a lot of shouting at breakfast. "I just prefer to wake early, is all."

"Alright then," she conceded hesitantly, before turning and walking back to her oven. "But I have nothing ready for you to eat, and you must be starving! Do you want some toast and a cuppa, at least?"

Before Harry could answer, an owl flew by and landed the Daily Prophet on the table. Bill picked it up and quickly frowned, throwing the paper back down with a disgusted expression on his face. His mother seemed ready to admonish him before she peered at the title and stopped in her tracks, an outraged expression on her face as she clutched the newspaper with two trembling hands, ignoring the food cooking behind her. Harry didn't pay much thought to any of that, however. He was staring at the window from which the owl had entered the Burrow because he could see a colorful bird flying in circles with a letter. Was that a _toucan_?

Bewildered by the bird and making use of the confusion in the kitchen, Harry muttered something about going outside and left to take a closer look at it. When the toucan saw Harry, it immediately dived in his direction, left the letter on his hands, and flew off. Harry frowned at the letter, recognizing the Black Crest on its seal. It was from Sirius, from whom he hadn't heard in a while, but why the toucan?

He pocketed the letter and went back inside, and this time Percy was there too, reading the paper with a puzzled expression on his face.

"This is unbelievable," he whispered. There was none of his usual aplomb on his tone, and Harry's internal alarm system went off at that point. Bill getting disgusted and Molly being angry were one thing, but for Percy to let go of his usual condescension, something awful had to have happened. "I cannot believe they did this."

"You can't, Perce?" Bill scoffed, but with no heat. "I'm disgusted, but not surprised. It's the Imperius defense all over again."

"But how can they deny _this_?" Percy asked wide-eyed, backhanding the newspaper with one hand as he held it with the other. "I _saw_ this. You saw him _fall_. _Harry_ _knocked him out_. He was wearing the garbs, and his wand had the spells when Madam Bones cast _Priori Incantato_ on it."

"According to the Ministry, Lord Crabbe's wand record merely shows the spells cast with the wand and does not prove he didn't lose it in the commotion. A rioter could use any lost wand," Bill quoted the phrase directly from the newspaper before glancing exasperatedly at his brother.

"But that is _poppycock_!" Percy stammered. "The man was a Death Eater in the war, and now he's caught wearing the robes, brandishing the Mark, terrorizing the people, and he just gets off because he's an _upstanding member of society_? William, I saw Bones' expression when Harry showed her the wand, and when you showed her the levitated body. She looked fit to kill him."

"It doesn't matter, Percy," Mr. Weasley sighed deeply, announcing his entrance. "I was hoping she could get this away from the Wizengamot and directly into the DMLE, but the man is a Lord. Amelia hadn't even had time to write up the charges before the Minister complained the case ought to be judged by the Wizengamot."

"I don't believe this," Percy whispered, his body slinking down the chair in complete astonishment. It was as if the fallibility of the Ministry had cost him years of life expectancy.

"The only good thing coming from this is that Malfoy had to have spent a lot of political capital to get Crabbe off," Bill muttered.

"Well, I should get to work quickly." Mr. Weasley said, already turning back to the floo.

"But Arthur-"

"No, Molly," he shook his head. "This is going to cause mayhem at the entire Ministry. Not even Rita Skeeter managed to write an article that doesn't make the whole thing sound shady. I can't even imagine how furious Amelia must be."

"Of course," Percy almost yelled, raising from his chair in a fluid motion, a determined gleam in his eye. "Mr. Crouch spent years heading the DMLE! I can surely talk to him and see this reversed with Madam Bones! Father, I'll come with you."

Mr. Weasley looked amusedly exasperated at the idea that Percy would somehow manage to overturn this on his own but just nodded. Mrs. Weasley seemed upset they were leaving before breakfast but said nothing more.

Harry didn't have to read the newspaper to understand what had happened. He couldn't even muster the energy to be upset. Crabbe, a Voldemort supporter in the war, whom he had beaten in an uneven duel, had gotten away with not even a slap on the wrist. Harry wondered whether getting distracted by the Dark Mark and not managing to subdue the fourth wizard had made this denial possible. Not even Malfoy could get away with _four_ captured rioters, right?

Before he could feel any self-hatred, Mrs. Weasley called him.

"Harry, dear, can you wake up the rest of them? I'm too busy cooking to get up there."

"Sure, I just have to use the bathroom and I'll go."

"Of course," she said with an amused smile as if the concession was so small he needn't have asked it. "Go right ahead."

Harry went to the bathroom, sat on the toilet, and broke the seal on the letter.

_Harry,_

_I wonder if the toucan I sent you delivered this letter on his beak or its claws? I tried to make the thing grasp it with its beak, but it was indignant at the very thought, so I imagine it would be the claws._

_I'm sure the bird startled you a lot. You're probably with the Weasley brood at the moment, so I asked it to deliver the letter only when you are out of sight from the others. I hope it managed to do so because trying to explain it to Molly or Hermione without causing scandal might be impossible._

_I am currently somewhere in the Caribbean, or at least I think I am. I am sure that I am near the Equator, and very far from England. Dumbledore told me that the private Healer he had arranged under secrecy oath for me following our encounter at the Shrieking Shack had to retire, and he hadn't managed to find another one in Britain. I quickly went to Gringotts, but they refuse to use goblin healers on humans, saying the magic doesn't work the same, and no St. Mungo's Healer would be able to work with me without alerting the DMLE. Their Healer's Oaths supersede all secrecy oaths possible, so I wouldn't be able to trust them not to betray my identity._

_Dumbledore pointed out that my only choice was to portkey away, to outside the country, to a Black Estate that employed Healers. And that is where I am. I love the climate, and I am enjoying the beaches and the tourists' affections_ immensely _, but this was clearly a ploy from Dumbledore to send me as far away from you as possible. I think he hoped that my distance wouldn't allow for me to coordinate with Gringotts to make you my Heir, but we are too far along the process for my absence to stop it. I bought a Vanishing Box from Gringotts that lets me write letters quickly to Griphook, who connected with my Account Manager to put the pretty letters to my wishes. So, all you have to do is make yourself available to Griphook before going to Hogwarts and ask to 'see the Black matter met.'_

_Once you do that, he will take you to my Account Manager, who will give you more detailed instructions. Because my family has a hereditary seat on the Wizengamot, you will be given a purple robe with the Black Crest woven into it, in addition to the Heir Ring. The goblins will explain all of this to you in detail at the meeting._

_As soon as my Healer deems me fit, I will go straight back to England and look for ways to find Wormtail and get me free. Moony should help me with that too. Remember, if you need anything at all, don't hesitate to ask me. I'm sure Hedwig would love the ocean._

_Love you, pup._

_Sirius_.

* * *

The aftermath of the attack on the World Cup made leaving the Burrow harder than it would have been otherwise, and Mrs. Weasley looked fit to tie him up until they left for Hogwarts, but there was nothing to be done about it. Harry merely said that there would be consequences if he wasn't at Privet Drive and faked a dazed and terrified expression. After blubbering in anger at the thought of those _consequences_ , she let him go. The Weasleys - in a move so unbelievable that it was believable - still hadn't finished their shopping, so Harry would have to careful not to stumble into them at Diagon Alley, but it was nothing that the Cloak wouldn't fix.

Tomorrow would be his meeting with Lord Greengrass. Today, he would be meeting Hermione and spending the day in London. He was excited to see her, in truth. He needed to relax after Crabbe got out. The environment at the Burrow following that day was much more subdued and tense than usual, and Harry hadn't gotten the feeling of homely welcoming he got from the place previously. Even Mrs. Weasley's smiles and bear hugs seemed hesitant and put on. When even Ron was affected - in his case shown by not even trying to play Exploding Snap or fly around the Burrow - you know that something wasn't right. He had enjoyed the day he went to the National Gallery with Daphne and imagined that an outing with Hermione, whom he regarded as the much closer friend, would be even better.

But before that, Gringotts.

Harry went to his building as quickly as possible, noticing with the corner of his eye that Flitwick and Daphne were teaching the children something about Hogwarts. It looked like the last lecture the Muggleborns would attend, and even some parents were relaxing in the Common Room. Harry nodded to them politely and excused himself quickly to let Serena out of his trunk. Making a quick decision, Harry threw in some wizarding robes, tied at the hip with a modified belt, and picked up the dagger and its scabbard. Attaching it right to his right hip, which would allow him to draw it in his left arm while his right hand went for the wand, he walked briskly out of the building with the Cloak on. If the parents noticed the high-quality black robes or the attached dagger, no one mentioned it.

Arriving at Gringotts, he found a secluded spot behind a pillar and threw the Cloak away. He walked as confidently as he could to a teller.

"Mr. Potter requests a meeting with Griphook," he said in a firm voice, looking at the teller in the eye.

"Does Mr. Potter have an appointment?" The goblin asked in a simultaneously bored and haughty voice.

"I wish to have the Black matter met," Harry said in a clear voice. Had the bank not been so full, he imagined his voice would travel through the hall. Entering his lordly persona, as he described it to Daphne, seemed a lot easier now that he had beaten an actual Lord in combat.

At this, the goblin's eyes widened, and he straightened immediately. He wrote a note in a rush and quickly sent it before looking at Harry much more respectfully.

"Griphook will be here to confer with you shortly, Mr. Potter." Harry nodded and waited.

A few minutes later, Griphook appeared, with a severe expression on his face. The lack of snark or maniacal grin from the openly derisive goblin surprised Harry, but he maintained his composure.

"Come with me, Mr. Potter," he said, turning away and walking quickly without even turning back to see if Harry was following. He was.

They walked in silence. Harry noted with satisfaction that his choice of footwear echoed through the halls loudly, and the passing goblins were eyeing him differently. He noticed they were all looking at his dagger. One particular goblin was looking at it so reverently that Harry stopped, turned to face him, and grasped his weapon heavily. If Harry hadn't learned by now that the more feral the look a goblin gave you, the more pleased they were, the harsh laugh and crazed look he received back would have frightened him. Instead, he merely turned away and continued following Griphook, which was looking at the interaction with amusement.

They stopped at a door that resembled Gornuk's office. The only difference was that the golden contours were golden but black, and black ravens were guarding either side of the silver doorknob. A couple of armed goblins guards asked for his wand in the same aggressive fashion as before, but the greedy glint in one of the guard's eyes as he demanded the dagger made Harry snarl and draw enough of it to make the blade shine. Both guards went for his weapons, but Harry merely stared the goblin guard down. He had the impression that his dagger would have gone missing somehow if he surrendered it, and even if his wand was in a magically restrictive bag, he wasn't getting disarmed.

After a tense minute, Griphook traded hard words in Gobbledegook with both guards, which began a heated discussion which only ended when a booming snarl came from inside the office in the same language. The guards retreated, allowing Harry to remain with his dagger, and he let go of the breath he had been holding. As soon as the guards allowed him entrance, Harry looked at their spears and armor and realized how stupid he had just acted, and thanked whatever deity existed in the Wizarding World that it had worked.

"May your blade shine with the blood of your enemies, Mr. Black," said an immaculately dressed goblin. A plaque on his mahogany desk announced his name as Bargor. The goblin, same as Gornuk, had the perpetually crazed look of someone who had fought in one of the Goblin Rebellions, and the suit and tie he wore gave away the distinct impression of a wolf in a sheep's clothing.

"What an aggressive greeting, Bargor," Harry quipped, raising an eyebrow. He ignored the Mr. Black greeting, figuring he would understand it later. "Should I be worried?"

"Well, you are carrying a blade, are you not? Is it just for show?" Harry wanted to say 'well, actually, kinda' but thought the admission he mostly considered the dagger a show of power wouldn't grant him any brownie points. "What have you named her?"

"Should I do so?" Harry asked, gripping the mentioned weapon lightly with his right hand.

"I believe that any great blade should have a good name," Bargor stated sternly, abandoning all pretense of finance and staring longingly at a battle-ax that held pride of place on one of the walls. "Wizards disgrace the honor of their weapons. Honestly, _Sword of Gryffindor,_ as if the owner is the most remarkable thing about it. Bah."

"I will think about naming it, then."

"You should," intoned the older goblin seriously with an approving nod before smirking and leaning in conspiratorially. "Between us, your commission made quite the stir around our weapons crafters. They have taken to calling it The Fang."

"That's an interesting name," Harry admitted, looking at the dagger in his belt. The name did sound cool and it captured the weapon's essence precisely and succinctly. If he didn't think of a better alternative, The Fang was a great choice.

"I agree. Now, let us speak of business. Sit down, Mr. Black." Harry did so, and the goblin picked up a folder full of documents. "These are all the papers, verified and signed by Lord Black, concerning the House finances, its members, its investment policies, choices for Wizengamot proxy, and more. I trust you have been taken into the loop of things by your Lord?"

"I have," Harry nodded. Understanding the Black Charter and the financial decisions made by the previous Black Heads of Family took a lot of hours from his daily life during the summer, and the mountains of paperwork involving the family piled up high at times. A lot of it was technical, and a lot more of it involved so many galleons buying and selling businesses that Harry couldn't keep up very well. The most intriguing thing about all those things was that Sirius appointed the proxy to Andromeda Tonks, neé Black, a woman with whom he'd had a good relationship as a child and who had told of his innocence, and, more importantly, believed it. Supposedly, the previous Head, Arcturus, had cast her out of the family for eloping with a Muggleborn. If that didn't signify the changing of traditional Black family politics, Harry couldn't think of what could.

"Excellent," the goblin said as he put the folder aside and laid a smaller folder in its place. "These are the documents concerning your appointment as a member of the Black Family for you to be in place to inherit it as the next Lord Black. They include the documentation of your blood tests to prove sufficient consanguinity to Sirius Black according to the Black Charter and the legal documents signed and ratified that allow him to appoint an Heir not of his loins due to his reproductive impotence. Finally, a waiver prohibiting the Malfoy Family from claiming any of the Black Family political or financial resources after his death."

"Very well," Harry nodded. So far, so good.

"These documents comprise the legal requirements for inheritance. However, there are magical requirements as well," the goblin spoke gravely before opening a drawer and placing a small box on the desk. Harry bristled, thinking he was about to face great danger and was dearly missing his wand at the moment. "This test is not used by many families anymore. Too many families are fearful of dissipating into long periods of political irrelevance because their designated Heirs are deemed insufficient. The Black family, who prides itself on producing powerful wizards and witches, has never relaxed its requirement that the Heir Ring must accept the designated Heir."

Harry looked at the box, which he suspected contained the ring, and glanced back to face Bargor, who looked as if he wanted to continue speaking.

"You may have noticed that I have addressed you as Mr. Black. I am assuming the Heir Ring will accept you." When Harry blinked in surprise, the goblin merely raised a well-kept eyebrow back at him. "I have trouble imagining the Heir Ring seeing the slayer of a Basilisk as magically unworthy for inheritance. Now, upon acceptance, you gain a duality of legal and political responsibilities coming from the Potter and Black families. Although the Potter seat is not inherited, it will be yours until you die and cannot be taken away until that day. Therefore, you could call yourself Mr. Potter, Mr. Black, or Mr. Potter-Black. When you sit on the Wizengamot, you will be Lord Black _and_ Lord Potter, but will probably be addressed most often as Lord Black within their chambers because it is the inherited seat. Within this room, you will always be Mr. Black, for I am the Black Account Manager."

"I see. Legally, does my name change?" Harry asked wearily. If Dumbledore caught hold of a new surname, it would cause both him and Sirius a world of trouble.

"Only if you wish it to be so and register a new name at the Ministry."

Good then. Something for a rainy day.

"Now," continued Bargor. "Please open the box and put the Heir Ring on the ring finger of your right hand. Be aware that with the documents signed and the ring on your hand, there is nothing the Ministry can do to withhold you from your right as Heir Black, no matter what they say. There is a reason that the Malfoy Family wasn't able to claim the Heir Ring."

Harry nodded and nervously opened the box. It's interior was entirely black velvet, with a ring shining brightly in the center. He studied it carefully. The band was dark silver, with a single black ribbon in the middle. The signet was a circle surrounded by a golden frame, on which there was a solitary raven on an off-white background.

Harry picked it gingerly and put it in the correct finger. Hesitating as the finger touched his nails, he took a deep breath and plunged downwards in a swift motion. Surprisingly, it fit perfectly, considering that it felt too large in the box. He felt a slight burning sensation and panicked momentarily, imagining that the Heir Ring had rejected him. But the feeling quickly faded, and he sensed a warmth, not unlike that which he remembered from when grasping his wand for the first time at Ollivander's.

"Congratulations, Mr. Black. You are now officially the Heir," the goblin said, with a gleam of happiness in his eye. Harry assumed that as the Account Manager for the family, watching it fall into near-nothingness must have been distressing. Bargor lifted himself off the chair but motioned Harry to remain seated. He walked quickly to a large wardrobe and retrieved a light purple vest that reached just above his knees. The Black Family Crest, with its lemma of _Toujours Pur_ , was exposed proudly on the left chest, just where his heart would be. "This is your Wizengamot Heir Vest. The Wizengamot Lord Vest is darker in color, and the Family Crest is on the right side of the chest. You are only required to wear this vest on ceremonial dates on the Wizengamot and your ascension, but many use it at every full session of the body."

Harry nodded as he caressed the material lightly with his fingertips. He could feel the magic pouring out of the fabric and suppressed a shiver. The entire meeting, Harry had been more subdued than he wished to be, but the feeling of this robe, moreso than the stern goblin that gave it to him, humbled him a tad.

"I have noticed that members of the Wizengamot sometimes use robes with their family crest on it?" Harry asked, remembering the day he met Daphne.

"If you wish the robe to show the Black Family Crest, all you must do is present the Heir Ring, or in case of the Head of the Family, the Lord Ring, to the tailor in question. It will allow them to weave it into the robe itself."

Harry nodded. He had no plans of using the Black Crest on his chest until Sirius got free, but it would be nice to wear it openly one day.

"Very well then, Mr. Black," the goblin smirked. "You are now free to endanger your enemies with The Fang."

* * *

After willing the Heir Ring to be invisible, because Harry suddenly found he literally couldn't take it out anymore, he walked back to the building, which by now was empty. Harry changed into a pair of jeans, a clean t-shirt, a good-looking black jacket, and a comfortable pair of sneakers.

He walked to the Leaky Cauldron and saw Hermione, who was already waiting for him. She was wearing a white shirt with thin black stripes and had rolled up its long sleeves, showing her skin and an elegant watch she was looking at impatiently, along with a pair of silver bracelets and a small blue purse she was carrying on her shoulder. She was also wearing a red skirt, tied with a thin leather belt just above her waist, which stopped just below her knees. In her feet, which were patting against the sidewalk nervously, she wore red ballerina flaps. Finally, she was also wearing a red French beret adjusted diagonally, something he imagined she had picked up on her family's many travels to France. But the thing that made Harry stop midway through his step was the fact she was wearing bright red lipstick.

And a thought that Harry could swear never would have gone through his head shone clearly in his mind.

 _'_ _ **Holy fucking shit**_ _, Hermione_.'

As soon as she heard a noise coming from the Leaky Cauldron, she stopped looking at her watch and glanced at him, and beamed widely. Harry couldn't stop himself from smiling too, even he was now feeling severely underdressed, and as she smiled, he snuck a peek on her lips. By the pretty blush that appeared on her face, she must have noticed; Harry looked away in embarrassment, so he didn't see the spark of triumph that shone in Hermione's brown eyes. Internally, Hermione was thanking her mother profusely for the fashion and makeup tips. She typically didn't like wearing makeup, but this was a special occasion.

Hermione suspected that her close friendship with Harry sometimes blocked the very idea that they could form a romantic attachment in his mind, so making him notice that she was a woman was a huge score in the right direction. At least she had put her foot down and refused to wear high heels.

 _'This is Hermione_. _It feels_ _ **so**_ _wrong. But again, holy fucking shit, Hermione.'_

"Harry!" She exclaimed as she hugged him tightly. Harry laughed at her enthusiasm but returned the hug with the same energy. Harry also noticed that Hermione was wearing a very soft perfume and the thought of ' _Holy fucking shit, Hermione_ ' boomed again in his head at the pleasant smell. The overload of information telling him that his best friend was an attractive teenager of his age made him amazingly confused. It was different with Daphne - from the instant that he saw Greengrass as he bought the cauldrons for the Muggleborns, he recognized that she was objectively an attractive person. But trying to connect the frazzled-haired girl he had befriended over an errant troll with _this_ was difficult.

"You look beautiful, Hermione," he admitted openly. It would offend her if he didn't point it out, and it wasn't a lie. Her looks had reminded Harry that Muggle fashion truly outshone Hogwarts robes. She blushed even more vividly this time, and her eyes were swimming with happiness, so he was glad he had chosen to say that. However, the best friend vibes he was trying to hold onto decided that deflecting to another thing would be a wise course of action. "I like the beret, by the way."

"Oh, it is nice, isn't it?" She said, patting it softly with her hand and then patting her - now curly and shiny - hair nervously. "You look very handsome as well, Harry."

"Thanks," he replied embarrassedly, scratching the base of his neck. After how much effort Hermione had put into her outfit, he certainly didn't feel very handsome. In his embarrassment, he again missed the obvious signs of physical attraction from the witch in front of him as her gaze followed his arm dreamily.

"Anyway," she coughed to clear her mind. "Let's go then? I planned a lot of things for us to do."

"Of course you did," Harry mocked jokingly, internally whooping because that was a part of his best friend he recognized, instead of the fashionable and pretty teenager in front of him. She poked her tongue out at him but held his hand and guided him towards a bus stop. "Where are we going, then?"

"We'll begin the day at Hyde Park," she said as she waved for the bus driver to let them in. Harry entered the bus and followed her to a seat. Harry hadn't realized that Hermione hadn't let go of his hand, and she certainly wasn't complaining. In fairness, his mind was still reeling from the way she looked, and the proximity let her smell rush into him.

He hadn't felt this flustered around a girl since his outing with Daphne at the National Gallery, and _that_ thought also made him reel internally in shock. Because despite what he was telling himself then, he knew perfectly well that what he felt multiple times during his date with Daphne was a strong attraction. They fit very well together, and the Slytherin was astoundingly pretty. The issue was that mentally, he still saw Hermione as something between a best friend and a sister, but his body was disagreeing with him _loudly_.

' _Oh hell, this shouldn't be happening._ '

Harry tried to shake his head and clear his mind. He had made his bed, and now he could lie on it. Keeping himself guarded would hurt Hermione a lot. Besides, Harry had gone on a date of sorts with Daphne and enjoyed himself. Now he could go on one with Hermione and see how it worked out.

"Why the park?" Harry asked curiously. Hermione's clothes didn't indicate they were going to stay at a park very much. She looked like they were going to a nightclub or something.

"I'll tell you there," she said, biting her lip nervously. Harry avoided the sight because while attraction towards Daphne was fair game, this attraction towards Hermione was still weird in his mind, and part of him was fiercely in denial.

"Alright then," Harry said reassuringly.

He wasn't sure who of the two he was reassuring.


	19. Dates and Dates

**C** **hapter Nineteen - Dates and Dates**

* * *

Hyde Park was the largest expanse of greenery Harry had ever seen outside of the Forbidden Forest. When they stepped out of the bus, Hermione carefully led him to a bench nearby and took a couple of deep breaths to calm herself. Harry was starting to get slightly nervous just by watching her begin to fidget, but the moment he decided to intervene, she turned to him with a determined face and caught both of his hands on hers.

"So, here's the thing. Harry, I know you don't like to talk about them, but I know you well enough to know your life at the Dursley's was, er, less than ideal." When Harry stilled at the statement, Hermione let go of one of his hands and delicately silenced him with a finger. "You don't have to talk about them. I certainly don't begrudge you for leaving a poor home situation if you're able, and you've looked happier this summer than I've ever seen you. Still, there are things that I think every child should experience in their lives, and I know for a fact that your relatives didn't allow you to experience any of them."

Hermione got up and led Harry onto a path. They walked in silence for a couple of moments as the girl tried to put her thoughts into words, and Harry was still tense from his best friend figuring out about his life in Surrey.

"When I began planning for today," she admitted, after exhaling heavily, "I was trying to find good movies or plays, a great show or a good restaurant. And all of those things would've been nice, but it would be things you'd be doing for an entire lifetime after we leave Hogwarts. I wanted to make sure you got to do some things you never got to do before and that you deserve to experience.

"So, in the morning, I'm going to teach you how to ride a bike."

"What?" Harry asked in confusion, looking around for a bike for them to ride.

"There's a rental service here down the road," Hermione said with a grin, figuring out why Harry was so confused. Then her expression turned solemn, and they stopped for her to talk to him. "Harry, my dad taught me how to ride a bike, and it's one of the best memories I've ever had of my childhood years. One day, when you have your kids, I want you to be able to teach them. I know that a broom is much faster and that the floo allows for instantaneous travel, but that's not the point. Every kid should learn how to ride a bike, and you didn't get to be a kid. So, I'm going to spend a couple of hours teaching you, and then we'll do other things."

"Hermione..." Harry whispered in an emotional voice. It wasn't something he was expecting from her. In times before, she could be controlling, albeit in a concerned fashion. He didn't even think about doing things the Dursleys had stopped him from doing as a child, but now he imagined himself teaching one of his children how to ride a bike, and the thought filled him with joy. He sniffed a bit suspiciously and then spoke in a soft voice. "We should do things for both of us, not just for me."

"Harry, it's going to be fun for me too," she said with a sweet smile that turned sly. "We can do things for me the next time we go out together."

"Alright then," Harry conceded with a nervous smile. Hermione beamed, happy that she got a second date out of the deal so early on the day.

When they finally reached the rental service, Hermione paid for a bike for two hours, and they walked calmly to one of the bike paths, talking unconcernedly and laughing at jokes. Harry's initial reaction at seeing Hermione dressed so beautifully was slowly melting away as he got used to her, and Hermione was glad that Harry had accepted her idea after a bit of hesitation. They had the entire day together, and while riding a bike wasn't very romantic, she was betting that it would make him remember the date forever.

The ensuing two hours were surprisingly fun for Harry. He kept falling, but he never really hurt himself, and other than some grass stains on his clothes and the embarrassment of failure, there was no harm done. He once almost fell on the Serpentine when he lost control of the bike but managed to control himself just in time. More than that, for every time he fell in the strange ways only Harry Potter could manage, Hermione would let out a delighted laugh behind him and help him up. For a while, he worried that Hermione would be bored just accompanying him, but her face was red with laughter, and her eyes were shining brightly by the end of it.

For her part, Hermione was enjoying herself. Watching Harry fall ridiculously repeatedly without hurting himself was hilarious, if only for the wide-eyed and startled way in which he looked around whenever he fell. More than that, she stayed close to him and kept touching his back or helping him balance, and she was delighted that Harry didn't stiffen under her touch as he used to. There was a softness in his eyes whenever Hermione laughed, which made her want to squeal in happiness. Unconventional though it may be for a date, Hermione was enjoying herself. She spaced out a bit, thinking about Harry teaching their kids to do the same in the future.

Of course, at the end of the two hours, Harry still couldn't ride a bike properly. Seeker reflexes and proper balance on a broom didn't make him superhuman, but he wasn't falling after a couple of meters anymore. More than that, the exercise was enough to break through the rest of his nerves, and he felt perfectly at home in the park. Hermione couldn't wipe out her small grin at seeing how happy Harry seemed when they finally returned the bike.

"Now what?" Harry asked with a big smile that Hermione returned.

Tucking her hair behind her ear with one hand, she caught his hand and moved the two of them behind a tree. Harry followed in slight confusion and a bit of apprehension, but Hermione just hid behind a tree and started fidgeting with her purse.

"I charmed it to be bottomless between classes," she admitted with a slight blush at his googling expression.

"Aren't expansion charms like post-NEWT level magic?" Harry asked with an incredulous expression.

"Well, yes. _Capacious extremis_ was a bit tough to get. I only managed enough to store small objects," Hermione replied with a darkening blush as he looked at her with amazement before grinning abashedly. "I guess we're tied in the post-NEWT charms now."

"Only you, Hermione," Harry laughed while shaking his head.

She shrugged but kept her grin in place. She handed Harry the basket and rolled the blankets underneath her armpit, grabbed his free hand, and walked them towards the Serpentine Lake. When they reached its shore, Hermione grabbed the blankets and put them on a spot of grass underneath the shadow of a big tree. Harry sat on one of the blankets and supported his back on its trunk, while Hermione placed the picnic basket on top of both blankets so the wind wouldn't blow them away.

She started taking food from the basket and laying them on the blankets evenly. Harry was amazed at the diversity around him. "Hermione, what's all this?" He stammered out, looking at the food. It was colorful and presented delicately, in a way he hadn't seen before. At Hogwarts, food was plentiful, but it was also very British, covered in fat and heavy to eat, except for the salads Hermione almost always ate.

"Oh, right," she blinked, realizing Harry wouldn't know many of the things she had brought. "My dad likes Arab food, from when he went with my grandparents to Lebanon, so we have baba ganoush and hummus with pita bread, along with some stuffed grape leaves - you call them _dolmas._ Then we have some cucumber sandwiches, some Caprese skewers, and a couple of homemade granola bars. I also made some pink lemonade. Then for dessert, we have strawberries and brownies."

"Wait, you _made_ all of this?" Harry asked, looking at the food hungrily and then back at his friend. He cooked nearly daily at the Dursleys, but their diet seldom changed, and though he didn't mind the chore as much as others, it wasn't something in which he could claim any expertise.

Hermione blushed prettily but answered. "My parents helped me a lot. They're both dentists, and I spent a lot of my childhood before Hogwarts helping them cook. They insist on eating healthy, so I cooked with them occasionally growing up for fun."

"That is so cool," Harry said with a bright smile, picking at one of the stuffed grape leaves and eating it animatedly. "And it's delicious too! I never had Arab food before."

"I quite like it," she said with a small grin, spreading a bit of hummus on a pita and eating it daintily. Harry looked at her bright red lips before disguising the glance by eating a granola bar. "I don't cook often, but cooking with my parents always makes me very happy."

"Really? You never talked to me a lot about my parents at Hogwarts," Harry asked curiously.

"I thought it was a bit insensitive, considering, you know," she finished a bit weakly, but Harry gave her a small encouraging smile. After that, she talked in her traditionally long spurts without breathing about her family - how Daniel and Emma Granger met in dental school and bonded over a shared love of theater, art, literature, and movies. How they had an entire room full of books with nice chairs for them to read on Sundays together, and how they had a vinyl her parents were always arguing over - Daniel loved Eric Clapton and Pink Floyd, Emma preferred The Smiths and The Cure. About how Hermione had a brief phase when she refused to read any novels and only read scientific books for kids or books full of trivia. How her favorite toy before Hogwarts was a plastic board of the Solar System with buttons on each planet that you pressed, and a robotic voice would tell you a minute of facts about it.

Harry was particularly amused by how Hermione described her parents' reaction to McGonagall visiting and telling them about magic. Harry was surprised at how their skepticism and doubt faded away quickly when she transformed into a cat and conjured some flowers and then started peppering her with questions about if things they had seen in science fiction novels existed. He couldn't help but compare her parents' enthusiastic support and how they insisted on reading the textbooks with Hermione to connect with her daughter as she went through this momentous time in her life and the Dursley's panicked escapes from the Hogwarts letters.

Harry felt a pang of jealously, but he quashed it ruthlessly as he saw how Hermione looked delighted at talking about her parents. He felt a bit bad at never asking about them before; it was clear that she was part of a loving family, and he couldn't fault her for loving them.

When the subject finally died off, with Harry interjecting with the odd question and Hermione going off on strange tangents that made him look at her in fond exasperation, they had eaten almost everything. Hermione carefully wrapped the bits of food that remained and put them in her bag. She then picked out two small books and laid down in front of him.

" _The Winter's Tale_ and _The Importance of Being Earnest_?" Harry asked, turning the books so he could read the titles.

"Yes," she said with a small smile. "We were talking about Muggle literature at the end of the term in Hogwarts, so I picked two books that my parents and I all loved. Jane Austen _apparently_ isn't very appropriate," she wrinkled her nose, muttering about how her parents overrode her decision on the matter. "Anyway, reading in a park is one of the things that I loved doing as a kid, so I thought it'd be nice to do that for a while."

"I've read _The Importance of Being Earnest_ , but I've never heard of _The Winter's Tale_ ," Harry admitted, looking at the book in question curiously. "Outside of school, I think I've never read Shakespeare."

"Oh? That's my favorite Shakespeare play," Hermione said with an excited glint in her eyes before she gave Harry a sheepish grin. "But I'm a bit biased about that."

"Why?"

"Well," she coughed in embarrassment and looked away before mumbling something incomprehensible.

"What was that?" Harry asked with an amused grin, leaning forwards before asking in a sing-song voice. "I didn't hear you."

"Fine," she retorted, but with no real heat in her voice. "I'm named after one of the characters."

"Oh, now I _have_ to read this," he chuckled, grabbing the book, outright laughing when she tried to stop him by flying in his direction as he kept it out of her grasp.

"Don't mock me," she whined, trying not to laugh herself, but not willing to let Harry know about that.

"I need to know more about this Hermione woman you've been named after, now," he responded with a cheeky grin. "How am I supposed to be your best friend and not keep quoting her phrases at you daily?"

"As if you would find the context," she scoffed, inwardly pleased at the thought.

"Is that a challenge, Hermione Jane Granger?"

"A challenge implies you have a chance, Harry James Potter," she said haughtily, putting her hands on her hips defiantly.

"Alright then," he smiled mischievously before grabbing one of her hands and turning her entire body in one quick swipe. Hermione yelped in surprise and tried to keep her balance. When she understood what had happened, Harry was holding her firmly against his body, his left arm looping around her belly to hold the book and the right arm grabbing the other side of the book. "Now, let's learn more about you, shall we?"

Hermione was barely paying attention to anything at this point. Harry wasn't ripped or anything of the sort, but his grip was much firmer than his slender frame suggested. And she was shocked at how solid his torso felt against her soft body. It was so warm, and Hermione felt so safe in that position. She could feel her body wanting to melt into his and bask in his smell and have her hair gently caressed as he lulled her into sleep. Just about the only feeling in her body that Hermione was conscious of at that point was the furious blush on her face. Before she could recover, Harry asked her a question.

"You're named after the Queen of Sicily, then?" He asked in undisguised amusement. When he saw her blush, he just chuckled. "No need to be embarrassed, Hermione, I think it suits you."

When he made that comment, Hermione felt her legs tremble a bit. Knowing she had no chance of hiding her pleasure so long as he could see her face, she turned in his grasp and put her head in his chest at an angle so he could only see her hair.

"Is that more comfortable?" He questioned softly. Hermione just nodded, still not trusting her voice.

They stayed that way, reading a couple of acts with Harry asking for word definitions whenever he tripped over a word. Whenever Hermione - Queen of Sicily - made an appearance in the story, he read her passages on the poshest approximation of Hermione - Granger - he could muster, and the witch slapped his chest in meek protest. ' _And for absolutely no other reason,_ ' she added mentally, even as her hand lingered for longer than necessary.

"The book is interesting, but it's hard to understand," Harry declared, closing the book after a while.

"Well, Shakespearean English is half a millennium old," Hermione answered knowingly. "I used to read it with my parents and ask them whenever I spotted something I didn't understand."

"You not understanding something?" Harry gasped dramatically. "Blasphemy!"

"Prat," she rolled her eyes but couldn't smother a pleased grin.

When they got up, Hermione grabbed Harry's hand, which he accepted without protest. They left the park with her wearing a smile that you couldn't surgically remove from her face.

"Where to now, My Queen?" Harry asked cheekily. Hermione blushed slightly, and her eyes went unfocused at the thought of being called that non-sarcastically before Harry snapped her out of it with a soft nudge. "Hermione?"

"So-sorry," she stuttered nervously, her blush darkening in embarrassment. She cleared her throat and looked off into the horizon. "Well, the Royal Albert Hall is close, but nothing is playing at this hour. Have you ever been to The Mall? I wanted to take you to see Buckingham Palace." When Harry shook his head, Hermione dragged him towards the direction of yet another park that they crossed slowly, enjoying peaceful silence.

The Palace itself was full of tourists interacting with the Royal Guards or just sitting around Victoria Memorial. Harry admired the façade of Buckingham Palace for a while before Hermione continued on until they were face to face with a building built to emulate a classical Ancient Greek temple named _The Queen's Gallery._

A lot of the paintings on display were from the same time frame as the ones he had seen with Daphne some days prior, but the experience was altogether different. For one, the paintings were rarely thematically religious and focused more on historical figures or daily life. His favorites were the ones that showed commonplace situations, like _Interior of a Tavern, with Cardplayers and a Violin Player_ and _A Woman at her Toilet_ by Jan Steen or _The Grocer's Shop_ by Gerrit Duo. Apparently, Harry really liked Golden Era Dutch painters. More than that, Hermione experienced museums in a completely different fashion than the Slytherin; she whispered animatedly about what she knew about each painting or if she knew the historical figure in question, as opposed to the almost divine reverence with which the blonde admired art. To her credit, Hermione didn't go into her standard lecture mode but tried to discuss things with Harry and pointing out her favorite bits about the pieces. Daniel and Emma's love of art had clearly passed on to their daughter.

After they left, they walked silently throughout the Mall, enjoying the end of the afternoon. Harry was thinking about how he could have enjoyed days like today for years had he grown up in a better environment and felt deep resentment towards Dumbledore. Central London was so grand, emanating prestige and power in a silent but imposing way, that it looked as if it belonged closer to another universe than to Privet Drive.

When they reached Trafalgar Square, Harry couldn't contain a fond smile remembering his visit there with Daphne. His escapade with Greengrass had been much shorter than the day he was spending with Hermione, but it was also fun, in its way.

Hermione mentioned they had a reservation at a restaurant in Leicester Square to end their day before he went back to the Leaky Cauldron, and she to the Tube. The place looked a bit upscale, and Harry started to fidget a bit as they waited in line. He had never eaten in a fancy restaurant before, and though Daphne had instructed him in Pureblood traditions around a meal, these were mostly useless in this scenario. Still, he followed Hermione. The hostess seemed vaguely amused that the reservation was to Hermione Granger instead of Harry Potter, but Hermione was too excited to notice that.

"I've always wanted to eat here," she admitted as they sat down.

"It's a beautiful place," Harry replied as he glanced around somewhat nervously. They were sitting outside on the second floor in a small adjunct part of the main restaurant, facing each other. Harry could crane his neck a bit to look over the plants in the parapet and glance at the people walking below them in Leicester Square. Hermione used every opportunity to look at Harry - after all, if they faced one another, it was natural for her to look ahead.

One server gave them a couple of menus, and Hermione had to bite her tongue to keep herself from laughing at the panic blossoming in Harry's face as he read and didn't understand anything. There weren't many dishes; it was a set menu with different options for each course, but in fairness, the options were a bit daunting in their description.

"Don't worry, Harry," she appeased him, deciding to take pity on the young man. "I don't know what a lot of these things are too."

"Is it that obvious?" He asked with a self-deprecating chuckle.

"Well, today is all about giving you new experiences," she answered with a serene smile and twinkling eyes. "Try whatever sounds best."

The meals were both delicious - Harry shared a bit of whichever course he ordered with Hermione whenever no one was looking, making the witch blush softly but appreciatively. It was strange for Harry to eat in an upscale restaurant like that, but it was calm, even with the bourgeoning chaos below, as Leicester Square started to fill up as people left their jobs and went out for leisure. The conversation between bites was pleasant and funny, and the balcony was sufficiently secluded for them to gingerly start talking about their expectations in Hogwarts and how excited they were to see the First Years and their friends again.

When they left, Hermione looked around for a bit before rummaging around her purse to take out a small black Nikon camera. She discreetly stopped an older woman in the square and pointed at Harry, giving her instructions on how to operate it.

When Hermione walked back to Harry, she smiled widely. "You didn't think that I wouldn't have a couple of pictures of us, did you?"

Harry laughed softly and shook his head, but said nothing more. Hermione grabbed his arm and hugged it, holding her close to Harry as the woman took a couple of pictures. When Hermione let him loose, and he thought the picture taking was over, the young witch tiptoed a bit and kissed him very softly in the cheek, in the corner of his mouth for a long time. The older woman let a small squeal and took a couple more pictures, laughing at the stunned expression on Harry's face. Hermione went running to thank the older woman. Something the woman said to the girl made Hermione laugh happily and blush, but it was a short conversation.

Hermione was _very_ pleased with herself. Harry still hadn't shaken himself back into the regular world when his date tugged his arm lightly.

"I have to go to Leicester Square Station to go on the Piccadilly Line. It's on your way to the Leaky, so walk straight until you get there, okay?" She said in a soft voice that somehow reached his ears in the middle of the chaos of the busy square. Harry just nodded, and they both weaved around the groups of people until they were back on Charing Cross Road.

As they reached the station, Hermione turned back to Harry and grabbed both his hands. She looked at him with a beaming smile and said. "This was great fun, Harry. We have to do this again some other day."

"I'd love that, Hermione," Harry said, surprising himself with the honesty of the statement. Just like the impromptu date with Daphne, the day had never felt awkward and Hermione was well versed in a host of things when she couldn't talk about magic.

"Great!" She exclaimed as her smile widened further, making him smile subconsciously too. As he did so, she blatantly glanced at his lips, and her eyes darkened with profound emotion, and the act was so evident that not even Harry could have missed it. When she leaned forwards, he could have sworn that Hermione was going to kiss him, and he wasn't sure if that was what he wanted. Part of him was thrilled by the idea, but another part was utterly terrified. Instead, she grabbed him in a firm hug and whispered in his ear, sending tingles down his spine. "Next time, you plan a nice day for me instead, deal?"

"Deal," Harry said firmly after taking stock of his situation. Hermione tightened the hug briefly, and without looking back, went straight to the station.

 _'Well, at least I know that Hermione fancies me now,_ ' he thought as he walked to the Leaky Cauldron, reviewing the memory of the last minute on his mind. ' _What the hell am I supposed to do with this information?_ '

* * *

The next day was tenser for Harry from the very beginning. Mentally, he was checking out the list of things he had to do to follow protocol with Cygnus Greengrass in the man's home. Even though he had already reviewed his lessons extensively with Daphne for this exact scenario, it was unnerving him that he didn't have her support at the moment. One sarcastic comment would have made his day, but Serena was too sweet a familiar to do that when he was so distressed and kept trying to calm him.

After a while of failing, she slithered away from the boy and stood near the room's door.

" _Master,_ " the boomslang hissed, making Harry paused midway through his nervous pacing. " _You still have hours until the meeting. Why don't you discharge some energy training?_ "

Harry considered Serena's words and nodded silently. He had four hours to kill before the meeting and he was going to take an hour to bathe and change clothes before meeting with Daphne in the Leaky Cauldron, from where both would go to Greengrass Manor.

They walked in silence to the training room after Harry grabbed his dagger. Looking at the magical dummies, Harry took a deep breath and assumed a pivot position, with Serena wrapped around his neck and sharing her magic with him.

Casting in Parseltongue was not only more powerful; the magical language enhanced whatever connection bound both wizard and familiar, and their magic felt more comfortable around the other. Harry felt more precise when he channeled Serena's magic into his own. His movements were swifter, and the spells more accurate. He felt as though the boomslang's natural predator instinct enhanced his aggressiveness. He was casting randomly, but not delving into the deeper parts of the book. He didn't dare try out new curses without Daphne there to supervise, but anything he had tried out before was fair game.

A movement he had grown particularly fond of was a ribbon cutter - _Lacero_ \- to the wand arm, followed by a _Flagello Glacius_ to the feet before he pulled the dummy to the ground and stabbed it in the neck with the dagger.

Rolling back into a pivot, casting a shield to block his exposed side automatically, he attacked the next dummy with a _Locomotor Mortis_ before casting _Expelliarmus_ and a final _Depulso._ He had initially felt a bit silly mixing the Leg-Locker with more serious spells, but then a passage on Rookwood's book on how many malicious curses were adaptations of medical charms made him take pause. After all, simple magic used creatively overcomes complex magic, according to Flitwick, right?

The third dummy, he cast the knee-reversing jinx before overpowering an _Expulso_ at its feet, watching with grim amusement as they separated from the body. A token _Stupefy_ felt like a mercy in sequence.

For the fourth dummy, he decided to test a version of the Whip Charm he had seen in Rookwood's book but had yet to try. Hissing _Flagello Cultello_ , he watched in fascination as inch-wide razors connected with the wand arm. He couldn't even imagine how much blood would be drawn simultaneously from that, but it would hurt like a bitch. After gaping at the visible damage for a moment, he repeated his feat from the World Cup and cut the whip, gluing it to the floor with a Sticking Charm and pining the dummy down before banishing it as powerfully as he could. In what would have been horrifically graphic if it were a real fight, the body severed from the damaged arm and flew back into the wall, leaving just the damaged arm held by the whip.

For the final dummy, he stepped forward before casting a quick combination of _Aguamenti_ and _Glacius_. His magic sung for him to use a _Flagrante_ as he had on the World Cup, but he restrained, remembering that it wasn't advisable to do so indoors. Instead, he hissed an order to Serena.

There was something vaguely sadistic in ordering Serena to strike and using a fake wand movement to feint before casting a shield and waiting for the boomslang to bite, which she did with remarkable speed. The fact that Harry would be hissing to the snake, which would sound indistinguishable from any other casting, was a huge benefit.

By the time he had defeated the fifth dummy, the first dummy was standing just to his side, already magically recovered. Snarling viciously, Harry drew the dagger and sunk it deep into its back. He panted slightly in exertion before examining the damage he had done with the latest combinations.

Harry couldn't cast any of the more seriously deadly spells yet. He had once cast a Blood-Boiling Curse that fizzled out of existence midway to the target. The berating Daphne gave him after that, about risking himself by casting darker magic than he could handle, hadn't left his mind. Harry had yet to use anything Darker than the _Lacero_ since. Still, he could feel his magic yearning for something more destructive whenever he used any lethal sequence of spells, only for a hissing reminder from Serena to bring him back to normality. For the more severe occasions, an appearance from Prongs and limiting himself to Stinging jinxes for target practice would calm him down.

These tendencies were worrying him a fair bit, and the growing affectation with power seemed concerning. The path to more vicious forms of magic seemed clear to him in the years ahead, and a small part of his brain nagged at him about losing himself in the process.

At times like that, his conversations with Salazar came to mind. The Founder would probably scoff at the idea that the idea of using darker magic was inherently seductive and would tell him to resist the temptation. Harry's conversation with Bill also held pride of place in his contemplations about this newfound lust for more power. Thinking about death made him squirm slightly, but his focus was on the other figure in that strange dream - the red woman. What was she? She hadn't seemed human, but there was an underlying presence behind her. Harry felt as though he would only resolve his present concerns about his changing identity and beliefs when he understood the connection between him and that woman.

After casting a quick _Tempus_ , he sighed heavily and walked back to his room. Time to freshen up.

* * *

Daphne Greengrass was sitting on the Leaky Cauldron, facing the door with a forced air of haughty inconvenience. Internally, she was quite worried about the upcoming meeting and the impression Harry would have to impose on her father. Meeting with a Wizengamot Lord would always be a challenge for a teenager; to do so without prior contact as a recently educated Muggle-raised wizard at their family manor was another level of challenge.

She sipped gingerly on gillywater and cast another _Tempus_. There was now fifteen minutes to go. The time in which arrival would be too early (lending itself to interpretation that you had nothing better to do) was over. Harry didn't have the station to be fashionably late, so they would have to arrive in between now and the scheduled time. She knew her mother would be waiting for them to arrive on the other side of Floo. Astoria would have been part of the welcoming committee, but she was unwell.

She sighed despondently, thinking about her younger sister. Cygnus had just received a letter about the matter, and judging by his expression, whatever correspondence he was reading wasn't welcome news. Still, there was hope. There had to be hope.

Resisting the urge to rub her forehead in frustration, for it would be improper now that she was within an acceptable waiting period for an expected guest, she gulped down the last bit of the gillywater. She didn't need to worry about payment, so it would be a quick grab and dash whenever Harry arrived.

The doors opened, and Daphne glanced up from her seat. It took a second before she recognized the man standing there; when she did, she swallowed drily and felt her eyes widen before she could control her expression. Harry looked far more imposing than Daphne had ever seen him and appeared much older than he was. Thoughts about his speech regarding his dagger returned to her mind, and she felt her entire body warm as she stood up elegantly.

Harry wore a white dress shirt, clearly tailored in the Wizarding World. Instead of the buttons that would accompany a regular dress shirt for any informal occasion, small golden hippogryphs were holding it together, a reminder of the Potter family's ancestral connection to the Gryffindor Founder. The pants were dark red - closer to a darker shade of burgundy - a stark negation for the Dark faction's penchant of the traditional black or purple and the Light's affectation with white or any off-color clothing. The shoes were shiny black dragonskin, and each step created an imposing echo. As required, he wore a pair of black gloves.

However, doubtlessly, the best part of the outfit was the coat. A mixture of a robe and an overcoat, Harry wore it open, tied around the waist with a red belt that went over it. The material was snakeskin, and if she hadn't known better, she would have guessed it was from the basilisk he had killed. It was a red so dark it bordered on black. Daphne could only differentiate it from the latter because the interior of the coat was completely black, and there was a slight difference from the outside. It flowed to right above his knees in a smooth, curved cut that made him looked as if he were floating instead of walking. On his hip, visible from the open coat, was the dagger she had so admired before.

' _Merlin, Salazar and Agrippa, Potter looks_ hot,' Daphne thought quickly. She wanted to cackle delightedly at how much the boy she had met buying cauldrons had changed so quickly. ' _That man is going to be a Lord and a half when he graduates. And if he looks like that, he is not going to be anybody else's_.'

"Heiress Greengrass," Harry said in a firm voice as he looked her in the eye before bowing slightly without glancing down. As the Heir of a non-hereditary family, he had to make the first gesture of respect before receiving any acknowledgment from the Heiress of a hereditary family. Daphne felt a thrill of victory at the smoothness of the bow and curtseyed slightly in response.

"Heir Potter," she said graciously, allowing him to finish the bow. When he did so, she smirked. "You certainly cleaned up nicely, didn't you?"

"Is that your way of complimenting me, Daphne?" He asked with a cheeky grin.

"Well, I just think it's a waste, Potter," she said as she took a step forwards and touched him lightly on the chest with one hand before whispering in a smokey tone. "If I had known that you were hiding all of _this_ somewhere in your bulky robes, I would have made my acquaintance with you far earlier."

Harry didn't respond other than blushing slightly and cocking an eyebrow. It wasn't that he wouldn't dignify the comment with a response, but he didn't trust himself to remain dignified in his response. His throat closed so much that he could practically feel his voice croak. Harry felt a strong physical attraction to Daphne, and she was dressed beautifully, in a long flowing strapped dark green dress with long sleeves that showed her shoulders and contrasted nicely with her light blonde hair. A blue necklace with a small blue stone hung around her neck, highlighting her eyes. Greengrass was one of those objectively good-looking people, but her clothes and posture were turning heads in the entire bar, making Harry feel oddly angry. The problem with Daphne was that her personality made it hard to know what was flirting and what was teasing, and he couldn't risk offending her right before meeting with her father.

After a minute of silent staring - during which she had yet to retrieve her hand from his chest, making it hard to concentrate - he replied in a husky whisper. "You look beautiful."

The lack of any sarcastic answer, or maybe the tone of his voice, or perhaps joy with the compliment - because who could tell, with Daphne - made the witch chuckle. She finally stepped away and gave him her hand, a signal for him to offer his arm. He did so, and she lightly supported it around the crook of his elbow. They walked to the floo, where she grabbed a handful of powder and intoned clearly - "Greengrass Manor."

The travel itself was not disastrous for Harry, mostly because he was so focused on not embarrassing himself that he barely felt it. When he stepped out of the Leaky Cauldron and emerged cleanly on the floo reception for the Greengrass Manor, he blinked in shock and wondered if that was the trick to a smooth journey.

He knew he wasn't supposed to admire the home of another family without permission, so he kept his eyes firmly on the tall witch in front of him, standing in front of a green armchair facing the fireplace. He registered with a glance that Daphne's younger sister was not present and returned his gaze to the woman's face.

Eleanor Greengrass looked a lot like Daphne, but was taller and with slightly darker hair, tending towards caramel blonde. Her eyes were a dark brown instead of her daughter's ice blue, but the posture and the face were identical to Daphne's. Cygnus Greengrass was undoubtedly a lucky man.

"Lady Greengrass," he said with a flourished bow. This time, he looked down to her feet and supported his torso with his right arm, crossing around the chest.

"Heir Potter," she allowed with just an inclination of her head - not a curtsey for an Heir as a Lady - and gave him a small smile.

"I thank you for your hospitality and show that I bear you no ill," he said as he took off his gloves and presented her his wand. She inspected all the items as he waited patiently with his hands folded over his chest for visibility and granted them back. "I thank you for your magnanimity in allowing me passage through your home."

"And the dagger?" Lady Greengrass inquired with a raised eyebrow. Harry briefly noted how alike the gesture was to her daughter's was, while said girl stiffened in his arm, mentally berating herself about forgetting to instruct him about the dagger.

"The Fang is a proprietary Gringotts weapon, and milady cannot remove it from my person," Harry said with a glint of steel coloring his voice, not enough to be disrespectful, but enough for Daphne to look at him incredulously. They spent a long moment staring each other down before down the woman started to laugh musically behind her gloved hand.

"You do remind me of an older James, you know." She said delightedly in a warm tone, making Harry beam at her.

"Mother!" Daphne half-yelped scandalized. "The Rites!"

"Oh, do calm down, Daphne," her mother sighed. "I am not your father, young lady, and you know that."

"Still, there are protocols for a visit until Father welcomes at all times," Daphne whispered harshly. At this point, Harry was forcefully clipping his lips together and was looking away from Daphne. The silent shaking of his shoulders clued her in, and she slapped his arm with her free hand and a severe frown. "And you behave."

That set off both Harry and her mother, though the first contained himself to just let off a low chuckle while Lady Greengrass started to giggle incessantly. Daphne chose to glare at her mother and pinched Harry firmly in the arm, making him yelp a bit in surprise and rub himself in pain.

"Heir Potter, I welcome you into our home and bid you good fortune in your endeavors until you leave," Lady Greengrass intoned after composing herself. "Now that the Welcoming Rites are over on my end, do you mind if I take my daughter aside for a minute? Feel free to wander around the room if it pleases you."

Daphne let go of Harry's arm and followed her mother into a corner with a worried expression while the boy was examining the reception room.

"What's wrong, Mother?" She asked in a fearful voice, thinking that something went awry with Astoria.

"Don't worry, darling, it's nothing bad," her mother answered in a sweet tone. "You have to relax."

"Why should I relax if you don't even do the Rites properly?" Daphne whispered harshly yet again.

"Daphne, you haven't been able to lie to me since you were out of your nappies," the woman said sternly with a pointed finger, making Daphne realize that she was now talking to her no-nonsense mum instead of the diplomatic Lady of the House. "We both know that is not why you are tense."

"I don't know what you mean," Daphne responded in a clipped tone.

"Do you want me to spell it out for you? Because I will," the older woman threatened with narrowed eyes and a firm gaze.

"Fine," her daughter scowled. "It's him, okay? Happy, now?"

"Deliriously so!" She celebrated loudly with a beaming smile, making Harry turn in their direction.

"Mum!" Daphne whined silently. "Don't embarrass me if you know."

"I'm not embarrassing you in the slightest, Daphne Ophelia Greengrass, and don't you dare start with me," she intoned clearly, but a small smile showed she was not irritated. After that, she gave her daughter a smirk that immediately made Daphne fear for the rest of the day. "Do you want me to embarrass you, though? I must say, daughter, you chose your man very wisely. I bet he'd be delighted to see some early childhood photographs. Maybe in the library, with the family portraits? You know how your great-grandmother loves baby pictures."

"Alright, fine, I'll relax, just no pictures," Daphne said quickly, showing her hands to signal a strategic withdrawal.

"Good to know," the older woman smirked before continuing. "Heir Potter, shall we proceed for the meeting? Afterward, I will present you to the Manor at large."

Harry nodded and offered his arm to Daphne, who accepted it with a small smile. They walked briskly behind Lady Greengrass. Harry, who had no permission to admire the Manor from its Lady until after the meeting, kept his eyes gazing forward to follow the path ahead. They walked along a long corridor before turning left and going up a floor. Right in front of the stairs, there was a large oak passage with double doors. Lady Greengrass opened one of the doors slightly and called on the Lord of the Manor to accept his guests.

This part of the Welcoming Rites happened only between Lord and Lady of the Manor to validate the incoming meeting. In case of an unexpected guest, a Lord would hear his Lady's opinion on the merits of the visitor. As this was a predetermined meeting, it was a mere formality. However, after almost ten minutes, neither of them had moved to accept their entrance, and this was making Daphne visibly tense up.

Just when Harry was about to calm his friend down, her mother emerged from the room looking pale and shaking. She didn't close the door and immediately hugged her daughter tightly, and not bothering with the fact that Harry was standing right there, whispered brokenly in a voice full of emotion.

"Remember, Daph," the nickname made Harry blink in surprise, but it was nothing like the sheer shock that went through Daphne's body. It was a childhood nickname that she hadn't heard from her family in years. "That you can just be yourself. You mustn't be Heiress Greengrass all the time."

After saying that, she just walked down the stairs, grabbing a white handkerchief from a popping house elf to clean her eyes.

"What was that?" Harry asked uncertainly.

"I don't know, Harry, but I'm a bit worried," Daphne admitted weakly. Her mother was one of the strongest people she knew, and to make her break down... Her mind immediately went to Astoria.

Before she could start to panic, she felt strong arms enveloping her. When she blinked, she realized Harry was hugging her against him firmly. Ignoring the pleasant feeling coursing through her body, her sense of propriety started to warn her.

"Potter, what are you doing?" She hissed dangerously, only for Harry to tighten his hold on her. "Potter, stop that." He didn't. Instead, he started to very lightly pet her hair.

Holding in a pleased gasp, she tried to push him off, but her arms were shaking, and she couldn't throw him off from such a short distance. "It's not proper," she said, shocking herself with how hoarse her voice sounded. Harry just stroked her back gently, playing with a lock of her hair calmly with his other hand. "Potter, please."

"It's going to be okay, Daphne," he said in her ear. After hearing that, her resolve finally broke, and she buried herself in his shoulder. "You're worried about Astoria, aren't you?"

Daphne just nodded, hugging Harry firmly to hide how she was beginning to tear up at thinking about how badly her sister must be feeling for her mother to break down like that. It was the only explanation she could think of at the moment. Her mother's warning was also sufficiently grim to make her head spin. Harry kept on whispering reassurances in her ear, and she could feel slightly calmer after each one.

After that, she gently let go, and Harry loosened his grip. Daphne took a step back and looked at his worried emerald green eyes, silently evaluating him. Not thinking about the future Lord Potter or the wizard he would grow into, but just the boy. She smiled thinly and grasped his hand, squeezing it tightly.

"You're an amazing man, Harry," she admitted softly, caressing his hand lovingly.

"I'm just myself, Daphne."

"Well, that's good enough to be amazing for me," she smiled, giving him a quick peck on the cheek before stepping back and flicking a finger on his forehead, just over his scar, with a small smirk. "Don't let it go to your head, Potter."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Greengrass," he replied with a small grin. Together, they assumed the correct posture once more and opened the door.

Cygnus Greengrass was a tall man with a stern expression, but unlike his daughter's ice eyes, his were a more approachable and slightly darker blue. He had smile wrinkles around his eyes, but at the moment, his posture was tense and he was grasping a glass of firewhiskey with enough force to break it.

"Heir Potter, I understand the importance of the Welcoming Rites," he interrupted Harry as he stepped forward to give a bow. "But I just received a vital letter concerning my oldest daughter. I know it would be horribly rude of me to ask you to leave the room when she is your escort, but would you be terribly offended if I used a privacy charm to speak with her?"

After overcoming his surprise at the suddenness of the statement and grasping Daphne's hand in silent support, he inclined his head slightly. "No, Lord Greengrass."

The man thanked him with a nod and waved Daphne around the table before murmuring something under his breath and making a transparent dome appear around them.

He handed her a letter, and as Daphne read it, Harry could see her getting paler and paler. By the end, she didn't even have the strength to keep grasping the letter and let it fall to the floor and started shaking slightly. Her father tried to calm her down, but it was visible even across the privacy charm that the man was equally distressed. After a long time, during which Daphne hadn't even opened her mouth, just continually looking far away with a pale face with a completely numb expression and trembling visibly, Cygnus sighed and let the privacy charm down. Harry didn't ask for permission and immediately supported Daphne. She followed him automatically and sat down in a chair he offered her.

"Thank you, Heir Potter," the man sighed again, rubbing his temples and taking a gulp of the firewhiskey. When he sat down, he motioned to the chair beside Daphne. "Please, take a seat."

Still looking at Daphne's pale visage and figuring out that propriety had truly gone around the bend at that point, Harry mustered his Gryffindor courage and looked straight into the man's eyes. "I apologize for my manners, but I must ask, is your youngest alright?"

Cygnus snapped to Daphne, who still looked out of it and was about to lambast her when Harry interrupted with a cough. "She didn't tell me anything, Lord Greengrass. But I have come to know Daphne and consider her a close friend, and the only thing that makes her so distraught is Astoria. I suspect that she's in ill health, but I haven't asked anything further than that."

The man evaluated him deeply before saying in a firmer voice that the tired one he had been using until then. "You suspect correctly. But Astoria is fine, thank you for asking."

"If Astoria is fine, then why is Daphne so shaken?" Harry asked firmly, not appreciating the lack of a proper answer.

"I'm afraid that is a family matter, Mr. Potter," Cygnus replied in a clipped tone. Harry didn't miss the change of his address but remained undeterred.

"I understand your reticence, and I am willing to take a magical oath on remaining silent on the matter, but I am asking to see if I can help your family," Harry hesitated before looking at Daphne, who still looked out of it. "I stand in a unique position in our society and can get resources that you probably couldn't."

Once again, the man looked sternly at him before scribbling down something in a note and turning it to Harry.

Harry read it, nodded to himself, and grasped his wand.

"I, Harry James Potter, will not speak of any matters discussed in this room from this moment on until I leave it or until Cygnus Lionel Greengrass releases me from this Oath to anyone outside the Greengrass family without express permission from Cygnus Lionel Greengrass."

"I very much doubt that you could manage to help me, Heir Potter," the man said warily. "Frankly, in any other scenario, you could have offered me an Unbreakable Oath, your family fortune, and your firstborn son, and I wouldn't tell you anything, but after today I'm just desperate to try anything."

Harry remained silent, understanding that anything he said at the moment would just irritate the man.

"Daphne told me she has been instructing you on the matters of the current Wizengamot?"

"She has," Harry confirmed with a nod.

"Good. Has Daphne spoken to you about my function on that body? About why the Neutral faction has been diminishing in importance?"

Again another nod, more cautious this time.

"As I'm sure you have already puzzled out, it is Astoria's condition that makes my position so weak," the man hesitated before looking at Daphne, who still had empty eyes and a vacant expression, before sighing again. "It is something of an open secret that the Greengrass family had been historically affected by a malediction because of a blood curse cast upon us centuries ago. However, after many generations with no manifestations, we were hoping that the curse had run its course."

"And Astoria has it," Harry said with a weak voice, feeling horrified. He couldn't even imagine how worried Daphne was about her little sister, thinking that she had a curse hanging over her head for her whole life.

"Indeed," the man nodded, glancing at his lap briefly. "In the past decade, I have been trying to get deals to get medical help, technical assistance, and curse knowledge, but I have never found anything concrete. I know you are also on the Restricted Services List, but even Gringotts has failed to think of a cure for the curse. Old blood curses are rare for curse-breakers, which are the goblins' specialty, but I had hopes that a good reputation and a full coffer would solve the issue. Blood curses were very common amongst older families, however. So, I started trying to mediate between the Neutrals and the rest of the Wizengamot to acquire specific knowledge.

"In that sense, I have managed to determine some things with my wife's help. Not enough to make a timely difference for Astoria."

There was a long solemn silence as Harry contemplated the man's words. Cygnus was probably responsible for a lot of the breakdown of the Wizengamot, considering he was in a prime position to emerge as a third way between Malfoy and Dumbledore, but he hadn't. Still, could Harry begrudge the man? If Harry had a daughter in a similar situation, wouldn't he curse the rest of the Wizarding World and do anything to save her? The fact that Cygnus hadn't capitulated yet and managed to retain an important position, diminished though it may be, was astounding.

' _Wait. Wouldn't I do_ **anything** _?_ ' Harry thought as the gears inside his head turned. When he looked at Daphne, something clicked in his mind, and he felt the blood drain from his face.

"No," he whispered weakly, not taking his eyes away from his friend's face.

"I'm afraid so," Cygnus replied sadly.

"Who?" Harry asked brokenly. He didn't know if he was more outraged than upset, but the situation was deeply affecting him. Who would dare ask for Daphne so blatantly? Who treats this as a business deal? The worst thing is that by Daphne's expression, she would do it in a heartbeat for Astoria and hate the rest of her life intensely.

Cygnus looked at Daphne and called her name softly. She turned in his direction and after a silent conversation during which she didn't lose one inch of her distant expression, she shrugged her acquiescence.

"Malfoy," the man admitted after a deep breath. In contrast, Harry felt the air fly out of his lungs in horrified realization. "The problem is that blood curses are most typical around old Dark families, and most families either aren't that old, haven't been Dark for that long, or had their ancestral tomes destroyed in the past. Malfoy is the oldest active Dark family in England other than the Notts, with whom I already have made deals. Their library was the one that got me closest, but it still wasn't enough to identify the curse."

Harry looked at the man and counted to ten. Then Harry counted to twenty. He tried to rationalize that he was about to make a mistake.

He counted to thirty with his eyes closed. He cursed himself for his idiotic saving-people-thing and the inability to play events to his benefit only.

He counted to fifty. Harry tried to think that he was doing this partly because it would keep the Neutrals from falling to Malfoy, but a larger part of his rationality knew it was too soon to make a move. Yet the rest of him knew it wasn't because of reason.

"Damnit," he snarled to himself before taking a deep breath. "You are both going to make an Oath about what I'm about to tell you before I leave the room."

Cygnus looked unpleased that Harry was making a demand so forcefully, while the statement did bring some life back into Daphne, who was staring at him in a confused fashion.

"I have access to a library from a family Darker than Malfoy's," Harry admitted after Cygnus nodded. The man's eyebrows flew to his forehead in surprise.

"The Boy-Who-Lived has that Dark a library in his disposal?" He asked in disbelief before frowning. "I know you are on the outs with Dumbledore, and he wouldn't have possibly allowed you to study any Dark books, no matter the potential benefit. So, how come you have access to this?"

Harry took a deep breath, reassured himself that this was _fine -_ everything was _fine -_ and raised his hand. A second later, after grimacing, he allowed the Heir Ring to appear on his hand.

Cygnus just gaped, and Daphne just stared shell-shocked at his finger.

"You're the Black Heir?!" Lord Greengrass yelped. Harry nodded weakly with a sheepish expression.

Daphne began to laugh hysterically. She was beyond herself, shaking and crying in loud laughter, holding her sides, and trying her best not to fall from her chair. After almost a minute of maniacal laughing, after which her face was red and puffy, and she had streams of tears falling down her cheek, she just looked at Harry and started giggling again.

"You're impossible, Harry," she said, losing herself to more violent giggles before wheezing out. "In the letter, Malfoy offers the Black Library because of _Draco_ being Heir Black, and you show up with the Heir Ring and everything. Do you understand what this means?"

After she asked that, it was Cygnus' turn to start laughing, but his was more sinister than pleased. "Lad, _please_ tell me that you got that Ring before today?"

"Ergh, I got it yesterday."

At that point, Cygnus had a predatory gleam in his eye, and he was staring at the letter viciously. When he reached the bottom, he started to laugh again.

"Heir Black," the man said after controlling himself, "Malfoy's letters are _always_ dated. He tried to offer me a betrothal contract based on Draco being Heir Black as of this morning. Because you have verifiable proof that Draco was not Heir Black when Lucius wrote this letter, I can legally claim he was trying to fool me. Best of all, I don't have to reveal your identity. I only have to present evidence that Gringotts has given the Black Heir Ring before this letter was written and demand Draco to show it in court to prove his claim."

Harry started grinning at the thought, thinking about the hatred evident on the man's face at the World Cup or after he released Dobby. Then he started thinking about _Draco_ knowing about Dear Daddy fucking up when he tried to trip another Wizengamot family, and he started laughing too.

When they all recovered, Daphne was beaming with relief, and Cygnus wasn't too far behind.

"To access the Black Library, however, I do have two conditions," Harry said after a while. Daphne looked shocked but not dismayed, thinking that Harry would have done that solely to spite Malfoy - in fairness, under normal circumstances, he would. Cygnus looked resigned and shrugged.

"Alright. Mind you, Heir Potter, you won't be able to ask for as high a price as Malfoy because I can still demand access to his library in exchange for not putting the personification of his son as Heir Black without you because I haven't sworn your Oath yet."

"That's fine," Harry said without hesitation. "If you could _never_ accept any contracts in Daphne's or Astoria's name without their unforced consent, I would be very grateful."

"My family doesn't accept marriage contracts under normal circumstances, Heir Black," Cygnus said with a speculative look in his eye. "The gesture is appreciated either way. What are your conditions, then?"

"Both Daphne and I want to lead the Grey in the future. We want to lead a faction that stands for itself instead of playing kingmaker. I want you to stand for being the Grey leader, instead of trying to make deals to acquire more knowledge," Harry intoned clearly, grasping his dagger to try to steal some confidence from it. He noticed that from the corner of his eye, Daphne looked immensely pleased and similarly surprised.

"I would have begun to do so anyway, except for drawing you and my daughter into the fold," Cygnus said pensively, "but you have impressed me so far for your age. I also know how capable Daphne is, so making you both advisors behind the scenes shouldn't affect me negatively. But you have to understand that openly relying on you would bring conflict from Dumbledore against you, Heir Black. It would also give the impression that I'm about to pass away my seat to Daphne, which weakens our position."

Harry was pleased that Cygnus had quickly assimilated that he was on with the Grey instead of being with the Light on Dumbledore's side. Most people would have assumed, even after all the facts, that Harry was still Dumbledore's apprentice.

"Father, there is a way to make sure I can get the family seat while ensuring you don't lose any political influence," Daphne said slowly after a moment of silence. She looked at Harry with a tiny smile, encouraging him. "I think you can guess it from our Wizengamot History lessons, Heir Black."

Harry frowned in concentration, noting that Cygnus was watching the interaction with open amusement, no doubt knowing that Harry's future political position and education would rely deeply on his daughter's teachings. After a while, Harry's expression cleared, and he looked at Daphne in amazement.

"Do you think..." he trailed off.

"I don't see why not," she shrugged elegantly with one arm.

"Care to tell me?" Cygnus said with a cocked eyebrow, breaking the silent conversation between the two youngsters.

"We make you Chief Warlock," Harry said, surprising the man. He hadn't even thought of that, and insofar as ambitions go, that was a pretty hefty one. "If you get the seat as the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, you can't occupy the Greengrass seat, but because it is hereditary, it must hold a vote. So, Daphne seats in your stead. You remain the Lord, but she holds the proxy."

Cygnus looked at both teenagers and saw how Daphne was pleased with Harry's conclusion, and the latter was impressed by the former's thinking. He inwardly thought that the way Daphne was looking at the young man made him reticent to leave them in the same room unsupervised.

"That could work," he admitted, enjoying the beams on both young faces. "But to do that, we need to kick Dumbledore out. That requires a lot of political friction against the man and he spends almost ten months cooped up in Hogwarts with the children of the entire Wizengamot. Moving against him is hard simply because the school is so distant from the rest of the Wizarding World."

"We can create tension against him with the Heirs," Daphne said with a firm nod.

"I can't do that yet," Harry denied. "The man is my magical guardian, that could create all sorts of problems."

"The Grey faction can move against him slowly. He just can't see you move with us," Daphne shrugged. "It might actually get some heat away from you."

Harry nodded, but hesitantly. Dumbledore was a clever man, and he felt that the only point on which the Headmaster focused intensely was _him_. Either Dumbledore would notice his moving against him, or Harry would have to act as bait. Neither alternative was very palatable.

"We'll have to think of some way to communicate," Harry said.

"I can charm you a pair of notebooks to create a private correspondence, but those take a lot of time and effort," Cygnus said, making a note. "It would take almost a month; I don't trust a regular vendor not to keep separate records of conversations to sell secrets."

"Then, for the first month, whenever something big happens, and we need to talk, we'll have to find a way," Daphne concluded, looking at Harry.

"Very well, with that arranged, let's move onto your second point," Cygnus stated firmly, indicating for Harry to continue with a gesture.

"Actually, Father," Daphne interrupted. "I think it best for you to inform Mother of the news concerning the letter. She seemed very distraught earlier."

Cygnus conceded the point inwardly, but he hesitated for a long time. Not because it was invalid - he should have thought of Eleanor immediately after the revelation of Harry Potter being Heir Black - but because he recognized the expression on Daphne's face. He had seen it on his wife countless times throughout their relationship and it made him reluctant to leave the room.

Then he sighed mentally. ' _Bugger, the man honestly deserves it. And better here than at Hogwarts, where the house-elves can't stop them if it goes too far_ ,' he thought, before grumbling beneath his breath. "And the boy doesn't even suspect anything, Merlin."

He left the room without any further comment and closed the door delicately. Harry turned to face Daphne and comment about the letter when he stopped.

He was confused for a couple of seconds. Then for another second. He could feel Daphne's hand on his cheek.

Harry blinked.

Daphne was kissing him. _Daphne_ was kissing _him_.

 _Merlin_ , she could kiss. Harry realized he wasn't responding and slowly started kissing back. She grabbed the front of his overcoat and dragged him closer, so that seemed like a good idea. Harry felt amazingly light, and the taste of Daphne was delicious. There wasn't any tongue involved, but her lips were so soft and massaged his own with such tenderness that he was slowly blacking out the rest of the world. He caressed her neck and heard her breathing deepen slightly.

Then she pulled back and looked at him with blue eyes shining brightly and a shining smile, though she didn't escape the kiss without a dazed expression of her own. She had to localize herself back into reality before smirking at how stunned Harry looked. When the boy was finally down to the real world and moved to speak, she silenced him with a finger.

"Don't talk, Harry. You are an amazing kisser, but this doesn't change anything between us," she said in a sad tone. "We can't even be seen with each other in Hogwarts without alarm signals sounding off or someone making potions accusations. It was a thank you for helping Father save Astoria from her illness and a thank you for rescuing me from a life spent in misery with Draco. You didn't have to stand up to my father in his own home and endanger yourself to retribution, but you did. I will _always_ appreciate it. And before you start complaining about how you did this for our friendship, and you don't need any compensation, I'll tell you this.

"This compensation was entirely selfish on my part. I am very attracted to who you are and even more so to who you will become. Potter, know this," she said before leaning forwards and looking at him intensely. Her eyes darkened significantly, and her expression turned husky and heated, making him catch his breath. "When our association can be made public, _I will hunt you_."

She finished the phrase by biting his lower lip harshly and whispering, "And Daphne Greengrass _never_ misses."

She turned prim and proper in her chair, just in time for Cygnus to enter. Harry tried to compose himself, but when Lord Greengrass looked at his daughter with evident resignation, he couldn't stop himself from blushing. Instead of the expected telling off, the man just sighed profoundly and sunk into his chair. He did grab a flask of firewhiskey and replenished his cup, though, so there wasn't complete capitulation on his part.

"Alright, Heir Black. What is your second condition?"

Harry took a deep breath, conferred with himself for a moment to confirm if this was the right move before nodding absently.

"I want you to get Sirius Black a fair trial."


	20. A Weaver's Fate

**C** **hapter Twenty - A Weaver's Fate**

* * *

"It's been a while since we talked outside of the Wizengamot, Cygnus," Amelia Bones said, gesturing for the Lord to sit in the black leather chair used for important guests.

"Unfortunately, it has been, Amelia." Cygnus smiled politely, accepting a cup of firewhiskey from a bespoke crystal decanter and taking a gentle sip. "Ogden's?"

"He makes the best," Amelia shrugged with one arm, serving herself a cup.

"I never got why he doesn't openly sell his premium line, frankly."

"He likes giving it to friends and allies," Amelia explained, cleaning her monocle. Despite it being charmed to be self-cleaning, it became a habit of the older witch over her years as an Auror. "Regardless, I doubt you came here to speak about Ogden or to reminisce about the good old days."

"My good old days are a bit older than yours, Amelia," Cygnus chuckled good-naturedly. "But you are correct. I have business with Director Bones and with Regent Bones today."

"DMLE first then," the witch nodded to herself, summoning some parchment and inking her quill before facing Lord Greengrass expectantly.

"Very well. Please be mindful that I am under Oath, so I cannot give you any wide berth of knowledge on this issue, but I came into relevant information from a bit of injustice."

"Injustice?" Amelia questioned, letting out a deep breath. "This isn't about Crabbe? I can't do anything about that one."

"No, it's a bit more dated."

"What did Fudge do?" Amelia questioned defeatedly. Cygnus grinned. Amelia's negative opinion of her boss was probably the least well-kept secret on the entire Ministry.

"This is from Bagnold."

"Bagnold?" Amelia asked with her eyebrows raised. "I doubt there is something to be done if the misdemeanor is that old, Cygnus."

"Oh, I know for sure that it has given you a fair bit of trouble recently."

"Alright, then," Amelia said firmly. "Anything you can tell me?"

"From what I understand, you should take a look into some old cases from the very end of the war," Cygnus said absently, peering about the office.

"Okay," Amelia said, drawing a list of relevant cases from October 1981. There weren't many that weren't cut and dry, so she was still somewhat baffled. "Anything you can tell me without breaking your Oath, Lord Greengrass?"

"I think you should keep in mind that there is more to even the _darkest_ of us," he said, slowly emphasizing the work darkest. Amelia looked at her list before her eyes widened at the very last item she wrote down. It gave her a massive headache the previous year, even if the Quidditch World Cup had recently imposed on her more heavily.

"I see," she said weakly, mentally redrawing those days in the Ministry. At the end of the war, she had just received her promotion to Senior Auror, but that wasn't high enough on the totem pole to worry herself with politics very much. She couldn't remember anything relevant about the Black case. Before she could continue, Cygnus intervened.

"You should review the case on a _trial_ basis," he said, with the same intonation as before. Amelia scoffed and shook her head in amusement. You can circumvent a crudely drawn Oath so easily.

She wrote a note requesting for all the files about the Sirius Black case and waited until a Junior Auror delivered a suspiciously thin folder. When the Auror turned to leave, Amelia perused its contents absently and ordered for the man to stay.

"Did you use the magical search parchment for this?" The Director asked, gesturing to the folder at hand.

"Yes, ma'am," the Auror nodded. "There were no alerts for sealed files or missing files either, so that folder is all we have on Black."

"Dismissed," Amelia said gruffly. She analyzed the documents more carefully this time. The large majority of the files on the folder were about his escape from Azkaban and subsequent nation-wide manhunt. Other than the arrest document, there were barely any relevant papers before the end of Bagnold's turn in office.

"Have you seen Cresswell?" Cygnus asked, looking at Amelia in the eye. The Director caught on quickly - this was another clue. But what would the goblins have to do with Sirius Black?

"Is Black on exile under Gringotts?" Amelia frowned confusedly. The man had no money to his name since the late Lady Black disowned him. Why would the goblins offer him shelter?

"Not that I know. But I suspect that Cresswell is going to be a bit baffled about the notification of proxy he received from Gringotts the past few days."

At that point, Amelia startled. Only the Head of Family can authorize a change of proxy under the Ministry Treaties with the Goblin Nation. So, Sirius Black is the current Head of Family since Arcturus Black died, meaning he was never officially disowned.

The most wanted criminal in the country legally owned one of the greatest fortunes in the country, and nothing the Ministry could do would stop him from using it if he had the power to name a proxy.

' _But that would make no sense,_ ' the witch thought. ' _Gringotts takes the Treaties far more seriously than the Ministry ever did, and Black would have had to be surrendered to the DMLE upon the first contact with the Goblins by order of the court_.' Then she froze and drew in a sharp breath.

There was never a court mandate for Sirius Black's arrest.

After all, there is no court inscription about Black's sentencing in the folder the Auror had delivered to her.

 _Sirius Black never received a trial_.

"Who is the proxy?" She asked Cygnus with her mind racing furiously.

"Andromeda Tonks neé Black."

Amelia rose in blind fury and marched to the door of her office. A slight scent of pine washed over Cygnus. He had always known Amelia to be perhaps the most formidable witch of her generation. However, there were very few magicals in the country that had their magic seep out of them whenever their emotions hit extremes. Dumbledore was one of them and supposedly, so was You-Know-Who, Bellatrix Lestrange, and Antonin Dolohov. And now, Amelia Bones.

"AUROR TONKS," she bellowed, the windows of her office trembling under the tone. There was no incantation of _Sonorus_ , just her magic automatically obeying the woman's desire. "IN MY OFFICE _NOW._ "

Cygnus cheered internally. He had known about the DMLE hiring the only Metamorphmagus in the country but had never seen the woman before. It would be an educational experience, at the very least.

The woman walked gingerly into the office, with a heart-shaped face adorned by light purple locks and the bright violet eyes so common to Black women of old. She was trembling from the tone her boss used and when she sniffed the smell of pine in the office, she gave a shaky salute and stood frozen.

"Nymphadora," Amelia Bones hissed angrily, not having sat down since Cygnus mentioned Andromeda's name. The metamorph's hair briefly flared red, but the furious posture in the Director's face overrode any sense of anger from the younger woman and it returned to its previous purple color. "When exactly were you planning to tell me that your mother is somehow the incoming Black Family proxy in the Wizengamot?"

The blood drained from the young woman's face, and her features changed drastically. Instead of purple hair, it was now light brown creeping into dark blonde. Her face elongated, and her eyebrows grew. Her eyes turned dark brown, and her entire skin lost its slight suntan and turned pale.

' _So this is the girl's natural form_ ,' Cygnus thought amusedly. In the middle of the discussion, both witches had forgotten about his presence. ' _Apparently, fright will make her powers freeze. How curious_.'

The young witch babbled and her legs trembled as she tried to articulate an answer - _any answer_ \- but nothing came out of her mouth. Amelia started growling at the lack of response and threw the folder down harshly at her table, making Tonks flinch.

"Do you understand what that means?" Bones questioned, pointing at the folder and then smacking her desk in increasing anger. "If the man can change the proxy for his family, _we never convicted him for any crimes!_ "

When Tonks didn't seem surprised, the scent of pine intensified a bit more and the young Auror poorly suppressed a scared whimper. Cygnus couldn't blame her at all - he had seen Amelia Bones get angry at the Wizengamot before, but she was, by default, a level-headed and brilliant woman. This blind and all-consuming fury made her hair float slightly, and her eyes seemed to shine in the room, creating a remarkably frightful sight. Something else seemed to click into the older witch's mind because she snapped to attention and looked straight ahead.

"Who is your senior partner?" Amelia asked more calmly. When Tonks hadn't lost the wide-eyed terror in her expression, the woman barked. "Auror Tonks, _who is your senior partner?_ "

"Kingsley Shacklebolt," the woman responded weakly.

The smell of pine intensified almost tenfold in the room, and both Tonks and Cygnus took a step back this time. Amelia was shaking, her fists clenching and unclenching, the objects in her desk rattling slightly. This time, Cygnus knew what the anger was about, and even he was caught off-guard. Kingsley Shacklebolt was in charge of the search for Sirius Black.

"Call your partner to this room," Amelia ordered in a cold voice that sent shivers down Cygnus's spine. The woman rushed out of the room in a dead sprint and barely a minute later, a large dark-skinned man entered the room calmly, with the metamorph hiding slightly behind his frame.

Faster than Cygnus could track, Amelia took out her wand and closed the door with a loud thud, rising privacy spell over privacy spell in the already secure office. She faced the Senior Auror for the first time directly. Snarling in anger, she disarmed and bound the man faster than he could present himself and banished him into the file drawers in one of the walls of her office.

"What the hell is going on?" The man asked wide-eyed, trying to free himself from the body-bind. Tonks was pale and trying to flee the room but found herself stuck. Cygnus drew his wand, just in case.

"Senior Auror Shacklebolt," Amelia started just barely above a whisper, magic swirling around her in a visible vortex. "You have been in the DMLE for two decades now. I assigned you to the most high-profile case this department received last year. I have not dismissed you from this case. You have been a pillar of my Aurors throughout your career and I have never received or seen any misconduct from you. Now, would you care to explain why you _knew_ that Sirius Black hadn't received a trial and chose not to inform me?"

"I didn't know he didn't receive a trial," the man tried to defend himself, still wrestling against the binds.

"Don't treat me for a fool!" The Director boomed, taking a step back to grab the case file before throwing it into the man's chest. "The very first thing any Auror does, in any case, is to look for a precedent in the Archive. That folder contains every single document that lists Sirius Black as a potential criminal we have on file, and more than half of it was filed last year by you. Notably absent are any court documents."

Kingsley didn't try to defend himself and settled for continuing to wrestle against his binds.

"So help me Morgana, Shacklebolt, if I don't have answers in 10 seconds, I am going to pump you full of Veritaserum and then obliviate you into a fucking niffler."

"That's illegal!" The man complained, with a fearful expression on his face.

"So is not reporting this to me!" The woman barked in response. "Don't you get it? The Sirius Black search is the single most expensive operation that Fudge authorized under his ministerial mandate so far. He forced me to divert resources from urgent cases and the Patrol team to look for a man that could very well be innocent! We could have stopped the attack at the World Cup from getting out of hand. A teenager made the only capture of the night; Malfoy released Crabbe before I got to my office to write the arrest report. I lost two Aurors in Knockturn Alley because of a lack of personnel. I couldn't investigate Bertha Jorkins just disappearing off the face of Earth. You should thank Merlin on your knees that the woman wrote a letter to Crouch and Bagman yesterday saying she had an accident and would return soon, or I would have to explain that a senior officer from the Department of Magical Games and Sports could be dead and there was nothing I could do to investigate!

"This isn't just insubordination, Auror Shacklebolt; you have blood in your hands," the woman hissed, grabbing the file back. At that point, the man had stopped moving. "And I don't believe for a second that you were keeping this to yourself. Either Fudge has you in your pocket, or worse, someone outside. Malfoy has a prime interest in seeing Black Kissed to get his hands on the Black fortune, after all. Maybe you even cooperated to let Crabbe loose?"

The man said nothing but seemed increasingly distressed. Tonks was staring at her partner in sheer disbelief.

"Cygnus, Veritaserum is on the bottom drawer of my desk, on the left side," Amelia ordered. Before Greengrass could get up, Kingsley yelled.

"WAIT!" He implored. Amelia stopped Cygnus with a raised hand, not taking her eyes away from the disgraced Senior Auror, who whispered, "Dumbledore."

"Aaaah," Amelia answered sardonically, "so you are a member of his little vigilante group? I thought it disbanded after the end of the war. Maybe it just operates in a semi-official capacity now?"

"How do you know?" The man asked, surprised.

"My brother, his wife, and their children are dead because of Albus Dumbledore's idiocy and You-Know-Who's monstrosity," Amelia hissed dangerously, pointing her wand at the fallen man. "Why has Dumbledore taken an interest in Sirius Black, then?"

"I don't know," Kingsley admitted weakly. "He just said that Sirius was likely to be mentally unstable after his stay in Azkaban and would be important in the years to come."

"I see," Amelia said, nodding to herself. "Thank you, Kingsley."

The man sighed in relief and was about to address her when she pointed her wand between his eyes.

" _Obliviate_ ," she intoned clearly, making Tonks gawk at her. "You entered the office and said there were sightings of Sirius Black near Nepal. You are planning to enter into communications with the Chinese Ministry of Magic. I already dismissed you."

The man sagged with dazed eyes while Amelia dispelled the body-bind, returned his wand, and levitated the man into a standing position. "Tonks, you stay."

The younger woman paled further and gulped nervously, but nodded. Kingsley blinked twice in rapid succession before bowing his head to his boss.

"Ma'am," he said, before turning back and leaving the office in brisk, confident strides.

"Do you know, Auror Tonks," Bones said smoothly, twirling her wand slowly. "Why are you going to leave this office with your memories intact?"

"N-n-no ma'am," Tonks stammered, terrified, nervously glancing at the wand in her boss's hand.

"Because it's a warning about what happens when you put your faith in the hands of mindless idealists like Dumbledore," she said, returning her wand to the holster attached to her wrist. "You want to keep your job as an Auror? Your new assignment is to spy on and babysit that sycophant for me. He'll try to recruit you into Dumbledore's circle of influence, and you'll accept. And then you're going to report everything to me. I mean _everything_. I want to know how often he takes a shit. Understood?"

"Of course, ma'am," Tonks said, with the barest hint of relief creeping into her voice.

"Excellent. Dismissed."

The younger woman nodded more firmly, saluted, and exited the office. Amelia sighed tiredly, rubbed her forehead with one hand, and poured herself a cup of firewhiskey she gulped down in one go.

"Morgana's tits, Cygnus," the woman glared at the chuckling man. "This was a week's amount of stress in under an hour."

"I enjoyed the spectacle," the Lord smirked.

"Well, you still have something to tell me as Regent Bones, correct?" The woman asked warily. Cygnus laughed merrily.

"This whole conversation has been so fun that that bit completely slipped my mind," he admitted before smiling predatorily. "I expected this conversation to be far more strenuous than the one with Director Bones, but your view on our Chief Warlock proves me wrong."

"Oh?" Amelia asked with a cocked eyebrow. Cygnus' smile widened, losing nothing of its sharpness.

"The Grey faction is rising again."

Cygnus wondered if Lucius would get word of this today.

* * *

Of the flurry of letters that Lord Greengrass sent in the aftermath of his conversation with Harry Potter, perhaps the most important was in the hands of Lord Roman Smith. While Cygnus was talking to Amelia Bones, one of his closest allies was approaching the Department of Magical Games and Sports. On his way to the meeting, he received another nugget of information from Greengrass concerning news about Bertha Jorkins.

Concealing an amused smile, he breezed into Ludo Bagman's office. He wanted to snarl at the tacky decoration of the former Beater, thinking that celebrating a career on the Wimbourne Wasps was unbecoming of a Ministry Department Head.

"Ludovic," he greeted the large man smoothly, his hands behind his back.

"Ah, Roman!" Bagman said in his usual boisterous style, raising from his seat to grip the man into a crushing handshake. "Very good to see you. I was surprised to see you want to talk to me. How can I help you, old bean?"

"We aren't very well acquainted, indeed," Lord Smith recognized with a tilt of the head, ignoring the man's lack of manners. "However, I do have things to discuss with you."

"Then let us talk, man!" Ludo said happily, clapping his hands in anticipation.

"I just came across a rather distressed Cresswell on my way here," Smith said, looking at the door pointedly.

"Well, goblins are difficult little blighters to deal with, after all," Ludo confirmed with a shrug.

"You should know about that, shouldn't you?" Smith purred sweetly, smiling as the Department Head tensed significantly.

"I don't know what you're talking about," the man denied firmly, despite the visible discomfort.

"Goblins don't take well to debtors, I'm afraid. Particularly gambling debtors, from what Cresswell was muttering about," the Lord intoned, stroking his chin pensively. "You are putting another Department Head in a tense position."

Ludo said nothing, looking at Roman wearily. The silence stretched in the room while Smith analyzed the distasteful décor. Without turning to face the man, Roman continued. "And using leprechaun money to pay off debts with teenagers, Ludovic? How crafty of you. The goblins would have been impressed if it wasn't so distasteful."

"What do you want, Smith?" Bagman said weakly, looking nothing like the famous Beater he once was.

"I certainly don't care if you get out of your debts or not," Smith shrugged. "If you hadn't committed financial fraud and if I hadn't had proof and witnesses, I might have paid them off. But now I don't have to, so I suppose I should thank you for that. What I do want is for you to give me the vote the Wizengamot gave you as a recompense for revitalizing the Tri-Wizard and hosting it in Britain."

"Very well," the man sighed defeatedly after a moment's contemplation. "I'll follow your lead."

"Excellent," Smith smiled thinly. "Lovely news about Bertha, also, isn't it?"

"You are very well-informed, Smith," Ludo grumbled. "I received her letter barely two hours ago."

"It's my job to know," Roman said, absently wiping his hand on the robes. "Are you sure that Bertha will be in the right state of mind to work on such an important event like the Tri-Wizard after a nasty accident like that?"

"She knows more about the Tri-Wizard Tournament than anyone else, Smith," Bagman shook his head. "I need her help to organize the tournament correctly."

"Well, let's not overwork the poor thing," Smith said genially. "My connection with Helga Hufflepuff and my family's extensive historical records are surely enough qualifications to enter this little duo of cooperation about the tournament, isn't it? After all, we are in cooperation."

"Okay, Smith, you made your point," Ludo said with barely restrained anger. "I'll send you the relevant documents and the scheduled meetings."

"Excellent."

* * *

Dirk Cresswell was the only Muggle-born with a Wizengamot seat. Other than Bartemius Crouch, he was also among the most magically gifted wizards outside the DMLE, if you didn't count the unnamed Head of the Department of Mysteries. His diplomatic personality and financial acumen made him invaluable for the bellicose and bumbling Ministry, granting him a seat on its most powerful political body.

The Goblin Liaison Office was an underrated part of the Ministry's structure. The Ministry of Magic had no economically-minded offices, but the intense correlation between Gringotts and the economy of Wizarding Britain made him the closest thing to an Exchequer. Considering the undeniable pomposity emanating from Fudge's leadership, his job was more important than people thought, and even the Minister knew it.

That did not mean that he wasn't a lame duck in the Wizengamot.

He kept updated on the affairs of the Muggle World, but the often discouraging state of affairs of its politics paled in comparison to the incontinence of the Wizengamot. None of its factions represented him and he would be in danger of losing his job - and his head - if he rebelled and said his mind.

It was surprising, then, that he was meeting with a Wizengamot Lord. Specifically, Howell Boot.

Lord Boot wasn't outspoken, nor was he rich, but his was an inherited seat on the Wizengamot. He had shared some years in Hogwarts with the older man and heard good things in general, but not enough to make any lasting judgment. He tried to remember the man's voting history but came up empty.

"How can I help you, Lord Boot?" Cresswell intoned respectfully, being aware of the egos of Pureblood Lords.

"Please call me Howell, Dirk," Boot responded softly, with a kind smile.

Overcoming his surprise at the warm answer, the Muggle-born nodded and responded with a small smile of his own. "How can I help you then, Howell?"

"I'm here on behalf of Lord Greengrass," Howell informed him, grabbing a folder from his dragonskin bag and gently putting it on top of his desk. "Cygnus wanted to talk to you himself, but he is currently speaking with Amelia Bones concerning a similar issue."

Dirk couldn't hide his surprise. While Boot was an understated man, Greengrass was one of the five or so most important men in the Wizengamot, and Cresswell couldn't for the life of him figure out what he could do for the man.

"Don't worry, Dirk," Boot chuckled, interpreting the surprise on the other man's face correctly. "It's nothing bad. Quite the contrary."

"I see," Dirk responded with a chagrined smile. "Is that why you handed me this folder?"

"It is," Boot nodded. "I am not a man of words, Dirk, and nor are you. I am not good at impassioned speeches or the manipulations of men like Albus or Lucius. I am very good at business and analysis, and when Cygnus requested that I speak with you, I knew we were kindred spirits."

"Certainly more than the average wizard," Cresswell laughed softly, opening the folder and peering at the introductory pages. He frowned and read it more carefully. His eyes widened, and he felt his mouth open in shock.

"We want to create a different wing of the Wizengamot," Boot said calmly. "No current group represents the possibility of steady and peaceful progress. Disruption is necessary but feared by the Light; legacy and bloodlines are the guiding lights for the Dark. We want to represent progress; well-thought, and inclusive progress. You are an intelligent man. I hope you are aware of the Muggle concept of a party strategist?"

"I am," Dirk nodded shakily, not taking his eyes away from the folder on his desk.

"We want you to help draw the plans for a new Grey faction. We want to change the bleak future of Wizarding Britain and create a better world for our children. What do you say?"

* * *

Newt Scamander was a man revered, something he didn't quite understand at times. In the past, Tina would gawk at him whenever he frowned in confusion as he accumulated accolades and awards. His dream was to write textbooks, and he succeeded. He was happy taking care of his magical creatures, and he was delighted with his family.

No matter how complicated his life, hard-work had paid off. He had lived through a lengthy, bloody war, and survived the challenges thrown his way. He was a powerful wizard in his own right, but never at the same level as men like Professor Dumbledore or Gellert Grindelwald. Tina was likely more powerful than he, something he always said to her, but something at which she scoffed indignantly.

After his action to ensure the Ban on Experimental Breeding and the acceptance of his Order of Merlin, Second Class, his forays into politics were over. It was amusing, then, when he received a Wizengamot Seat for his efforts in the late 70s. He suspected that Dumbledore tried to push him into the frontlines of yet another war and convinced the body to give him a vote as payment. He hadn't even appointed a proxy to himself in the intervening decade.

Albus, the man, never understood Newt very well. He respected Dumbledore, the Professor, profoundly, but the man had failed his admittedly lofty expectations.

Dumbledore had taken Newt's idea of a Werewolf Registrar and allowed it to be considered a monitoring tool instead of a welfare and protection scheme. Dumbledore had presided over a body that, for decades, had shown an increasingly regressive view on magical creatures' rights.

However, Newton Scamander was retired. He would not enter the world of politics now. He didn't even read the _Daily Prophet_ any more, living in a blissful island of content with his family and his life's work.

And yet, this letter. It was thoughtful of this 'Cygnus Greengrass' to know that Newt would never agree to an in-person meeting at this point in his life. Reclusivity was a precious resource in his life, after all. He would not attend the Wizengamot for anything under the heavens, but his son never inherited his love for Magizoology.

Perhaps...?

Newt called Tina over. It would be an interesting discussion.

* * *

Bartemius Crouch Jr. was waiting. Pettigrew and Jorkins were supposed to meet him soon enough, with news of their Lord. Last he heard from Wormtail, the coward had managed to find the Dark Lord and helped convert Jorkins to their cause. He scoffed at the description. Crouch Jr. was sure that all that Wormtail did was stand in the corner while the Dark Lord spoke with Jorkins. Wormtail couldn't convince a niffler to track gold by himself.

He had never doubted that his Lord would return, and he frotted at the mouth in remembrance at the cowardice of the Lord's subjects at the World Cup. The Mark was a call to arms, not a signal to retreat.

Crouch detested cowards. As a consequence, he detested Pettigrew.

Three figures arrived with a soft pop near him, and Crouch turned in the direction of the noise. Barty frowned. He recognized the fat, trembling, and ugly visage of Pettigrew from a mile away, and the lady matched the descriptions he had heard from his father about Bertha Jorkins, but the man in the middle was unknown. Not only that, but he was young, perhaps twenty or so. A mercenary, perhaps?

"Pettigrew," Barty snarled, "where is our Lord?"

"Calm down, Bartemius," Jorkins intervened.

"Quiet!" Crouch barked in response, his crazed eyes snapping at the woman. "Until you fight for our Lord, I will always question your loyalty."

The woman rolled her eyes and was about to answer when a sibilant voice echoed in the clearing. " _Your loyalty to me is a great asset to our cause, Crouch._ "

Barty Crouch Jr. immediately kneeled and began cackling in delight. He _knew_ it. He had known it all along! That was why he went to Azkaban, the certainty of his Lord's infallibility.

"My Lord," he said reverently, looking around. "I cannot see you, My Lord, but I am here to serve you."

" _And for that, I will reward you beyond all dreams,"_ the voice answered smoothly. " _You mustn't question Bertha's loyalty to me, Bartemius. She was quite resourceful in convincing me to not make a mistake._ "

"You make no mistakes, My Lord!" Bartemius protested.

The Dark Lord chuckled. _"Ah, but in my vulnerable state, I was not thinking clearly. Wormtail here wanted to kill Bertha, but I saw potential._ " Barty noticed how Jorkins was scowling at Pettigrew, who was staring fearfully at the ground and twitching slightly. _"Such an intelligent woman, relegated to the reputation of being a talkative and mindless gossip. People are so often fooled by first impressions. In my haste to recover a body, I instructed Wormtail to produce a homunculus; alas, Bertha found this young man willing to sacrifice to the cause for the benefit of his family_."

"She is a good servant, My Lord," Crouch intoned seriously.

" _Yes,"_ the voice confirmed smoothly. _"She is. Nonetheless, her role in the incoming months is secondary. Wormtail will go with her now, and you will come with me."_

"Of course, My Lord," Crouch said, standing up and looking at the young man, whose eyes were dead and lifeless. He wore a turban, and Crouch frowned again. Where was his Lord?

" _I am afraid that I am falling for a repetition, Bartemius,_ " the Dark Lord contemplated. " _Possession is not a pleasant business, but it is superior to a homunculus._ "

The man took off his turban, and the Lord's face was bursting out of the young man's back. Crouch kneeled reverently once more.

" _Rise, Bartemius. We must traverse to the Gaunt family home in Little Hangleton. Bertha and Wormtail will create a diversion for Dumbledore to follow, but you will give me a corporeal form once more. Then you will assist both of them in their diversion."_

Crouch felt a thrill run up his spine at the importance of his task. "I live to serve you, My Lord."

_"Speaking of servitude, I understand you were attended by an elf?"_

"You are correct, My Lord," Bartemius said, thinking of Winky. He had seen his father release her from his service but felt confident he could call on the elf to appear even now.

" _Good. Bertha, Wormtail, leave. I must discuss things with Bartemius_."

"Of course, My Lord," Wormtail answered for the both of them, and they left on their mission.

" _Bartemius, never forget, you are now my most trusted,"_ the Dark Lord said smoothly. Crouch smiled maniacally at the affirmation. " _Forget what I said about Bertha. The woman is an easily fooled idiot, and Wormtail serves me out of fear, not devotion_."

Crouch felt indignation rise within him. His Lord needed better from his followers, but they had abandoned him to live comfortably in their manors, forgetting their vows of servitude and their devotion to their cause.

" _When you complete your task, you will command them both. We will communicate via your elf,"_ the Dark Lord instructed. " _I have foreseen my predicament and created items to aid in my return. You will not speak of this to anyone else. I am trusting you, Bartemius."_

"I will die before revealing your secrets, My Lord!" Crouch said passionately, the glint of crazy from Azkaban and years under the _Imperio_ shining in his eye.

" _Excellent. Now, let us go. I require my ring."_

* * *

Daphne Greengrass was sitting on a compartment in the Hogwarts Express with Tracey Davis. She was peering out the window, waiting for the train to begin its journey, contemplating this strange summer. Tracey was the only person from whom Daphne kept no secrets whenever possible. While she couldn't share much of her summer, she had shared her newfound partnership with Harry Potter vigorously, with great focus on their kiss.

Daphne felt her body tingle in remembrance and knew her eyes fluttered slightly. She wanted to kiss him again. She wanted to drag him to a classroom, close the door, and kiss him again. But she had decided on the day he had shown her his dagger that she was going for the long run. Random snogs would capture the imagination of the boy, but not the devotion of the man.

Therefore, she controlled herself. Still, Tracey began giggling.

"Oh, Daphne, I thought I would never see you like this," she said happily.

"I am acting perfectly normal," Daphne responded coolly.

"Right," Tracey drawled. "Whatever makes you sleep at night, honey."

"Please," Daphne rolled her eyes. "You're the boy-crazed one."

"I didn't say anything about a boy," Tracey said in a sing-song tone, laughing when Daphne huffed and looked away. "My Daphne is all grown up."

"We both know I am the far more mature one out of us both," Daphne deadpanned.

It was true. Daphne's brunette friend was happy and talkative for a Slytherin, and while she retained the cunning and wit customary for prosperity in their House, it was not her most prominent feature. She was cheeky, lively, and mocking, lavishing in the attention she got from the boys in school for no reason other than for her amusement. The Dark children in their year mostly ignored the half-blood, despite her blood status, precisely because of her personality. The boys kept dreaming that she would make herself available for them, and the girls dismissed her as unimportant.

Neither were wise in their assessment. Tracey's personality was not an indicator of any promiscuity, much to Blaise's half-joking chagrin, and she was one of the most well-informed students in Hogwarts. Daphne was boxed-in at Slytherin because of her family's reputation, but Tracey had friends in Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, through whom she kept tabs even on the events on Gryffindor Tower. The teachers did not think much of her, but she was good at every subject, a perfect jack-of-all-trades. Versatility is a great resource, and Daphne knew that Tracey would be a great mix with Harry.

Also, she was the only woman she fully trusted around the boy. Her bourgeoning jealously was an unintended and frankly unappealing part of the summer, but Daphne would be lying to deny a growing discomfort whenever Granger was sitting a bit too close with Harry.

The bookworm bint had even sat in the boy's lap! No sense of propriety whatsoever.

Whenever Granger made an appearance in her mind, Daphne would smugly think that she was the one that kissed the boy first, and that satisfied the ugly green monster nascent in her chest.

"Not in the romantic world, girl," Tracey winked, before sighing happily. "Fourth-Year is when the boys started growing into young men. This will be a great year."

"Stop with your one-track mind, Tracey."

"It's not my fault if I know what's good about life."

Daphne rolled her eyes but smiled slightly in amusement before growing solemn. "Have you heard anything about the things in the Ministry?"

"Not really," Tracey denied, clucking her tongue. "I expect some shifting around after breakfast tomorrow, but it's too early for any big moves. Perhaps Lucius gets a word to his son before anyone else, but I don't know how Draco will react."

"Poorly," Daphne drawled. "The boy is not his father."

"No, that he is not, thank Merlin," Tracey shivered. "For all that I mock the boy for his posturing, his father is quite dangerous."

"I'm confident that Father will manage to box Malfoy Sr. a fair bit in the incoming year," Daphne shrugged. "He spent far too much influence freeing Crabbe and he made a mistake yesterday."

"I'm interested to know more about that one," Tracey admitted. "Negative trade-offs are common from Malfoy, but outright mistakes are quite rare."

"Not my secret to tell, Tracey."

"Not even for your very best friend ever?" Tracey pouted playfully.

"Oh, my mother already knows," Daphne smiled sweetly.

"Cheeky witch," Tracey groused good-naturedly before sighing. "Oh well, can't know everything, sadly."

"Say that to the Hufflepuffs," Daphne scoffed.

"Not my faults that Puffs just love to gossip," Tracey said, throwing her hair behind her shoulder before looking at Daphne more intensely. "You do know that you will have to expand your social circle, don't you?"

"I'll leave that orchestrating to you," Daphne said tiredly. People were typically uninteresting, particularly people her age, but socialising was a necessary consequence of her father's moves on the Ministry. "I don't have the foggiest on how to deal with the Puffs and the Claws."

"You deal with Potter well enough, it shouldn't be that hard."

"Tracey, Harry is the most Slytherin boy in our year," Daphne scoffed. "Trust me, talking to him is a delight for me."

"So, am I going to have to deal with two smartasses when I visit your house in the future?"

"How am I supposed to answer that question?" Daphne sighed, rubbing her forehead.

"I don't see a lot of denial on you living together," Tracey smirked. When Daphne moaned and supported her head on her hands, she laughed.

"You don't understand, Tracey," Daphne said softly. "You haven't seen what I saw."

Daphne was sure that Tracey would mock her, but the girl just looked at her with a vaguely sad expression. "I'm happy for you, Daphne."

"You don't look happy," Daphne asked with a slight frown.

"I'm jealous," Tracey admitted with a sad smile. "I talk to more people than you, but I've never felt what you're feeling about Potter."

"Tracey, you'll find someone for you," Daphne said, grasping her best friend's hands. "You're amazing, remember?"

"Of course I am," the girl smirked before turning serious. "But I can't imagine looking at someone and seeing so much potential that I already begin hunting him."

"I didn't either," Daphne shrugged. "I don't love Potter, but the idea of a future with him thrills me profoundly."

"Are you sure you aren't falling for him?" Tracey asked skeptically.

"You don't fall in love with people you kissed once, Tracey," Daphne said firmly. Tracey just hummed unconvincingly. "I mean it."

"If you say so," the girl responded slowly before they stayed in silence for a good few minutes. "Why are you helping Granger, then?"

"I'm not helping her; I just pushed her a bit in his general direction."

"Whatever, Daphne," Tracey responded irritably. "You know what I mean. _Why?_ "

"Granger is the only positive link Harry has with the Muggle world, Tracey," Daphne said seriously. "Anyone with two brain cells can tell he hates his relatives. I'm trying to convince Granger that she needs to be more of a witch to try anything with Harry."

"Alright, with you so far," Tracey nodded. "But I don't see why'd you help a rival."

"That's the thing, Tracey, I'm not helping her," Daphne smirked victoriously. "Granger can only compete with me if she reminds Harry that there are good things in the Muggle world that she can show him. But if I convince her that she needs to accept that Harry is a wizard and wants to cut relations with the world he grew up in, we would be battling it out on the world _I_ grew up in."

"That sounds needlessly complicated, Daphne," Tracey shook her head. "If you want the boy, you don't introduce wildcards without playing with fire."

"I'm confident in my strategy," Daphne said firmly.

"I'm not," Tracey said just as resolutely.

Before Daphne could retort, the object of their conversation knocked gingerly on the compartment door and slowly slid it open.

"Greengrass," Hermione said calmly, handing out a small envelope. "I'd like to thank you for your help this summer."

Before either Slytherin could answer, the Gryffindor closed the compartment door and walked away. Daphne and Tracey exchanged a glance before turning to the envelope. Tracey could feel the nervous energy emanating from her friend, clearly not expecting this.

Daphne frowned for a bit before opening the envelope carefully. It was a pair of photographs. She looked at them absently before her face twisted furiously and her eyes blazed angrily. Tracey moved to sit next to her friend, who was still clutching the photographs tightly.

Both photographs were Muggle. Tracey recognized Potter easily enough, but she had to blink a bit in shock at the girl in his arm. It was Granger, and she looked _beautiful_. She looked so different from the girl Tracey had passed by on Hogwarts that it was hard to accept they were the same person. But Daphne wasn't looking at Granger, beautiful though her rival looked. She was glaring at the stunned and surprised expression on Harry's face when Hermione was kissing his cheek dangerously close to his lips.

"That _bitch_ ," Daphne snarled, burning the pictures with an impossibly fast move of her wand. "It's on, now."

Tracey saw her friend and started to bite her lower lip nervously. She hoped Daphne hadn't lost her romantic interest by trying to play complicated mind games.

* * *

Hours later, Harry was tired of people cryptically talking about whatever new event was going to happen this following year. Cygnus hadn't told him anything specific beyond that something would happen, but he did not expect that it would affect Harry. In his mind, Harry was already preparing himself for whatever nonsense would happen, knowing that nothing that big happened in the castle without affecting him in some way.

Draco had shown up with Pansy in hand and his usual escorts, but Harry just looked at him tiredly as he tried to insult everyone. Ron had fallen for it, as one does, but Harry kept his attention focused on Crabbe. When Draco moved to insult Ron again about this thing or other, Harry cut through.

"Crabbe, how's your father's arm?" Harry asked, already holding his wand softly to cast a shield if one of the Slytherins tried to attack. Crabbe bristled, and the other two boys frowned confusedly, but it was Parkinson who caught on first.

"How do you know about the arm?" She asked, with none of her usual vitriol. On the contrary, she had an expectant expression on her face. "It isn't public information."

"Why Pansy," Harry smiled, watching as the girl blinked at the first name. "Who _do_ you think caught him?"

The girl gawked at him as Crabbe shifted uncomfortably, and Draco scowled.

"Don't be such a liar, Potter," he spat. "You are too weak a wizard to defeat a Wizengamot Lord."

"You wouldn't know, would you?" Harry asked sweetly, almost condescendingly. "After all, I stupefied you pretty quickly there."

Draco's face turned red and he marched away angrily, the two bodyguards following him, with Crabbe eyeing him fearfully before moving away. Parkinson stayed, leaning her body against the frame of the compartment. When Ron was about to yell at her to leave, she just raised her hand in his direction demanding silence without taking her eyes away from Harry.

"You're different," she said after a while.

"Aren't we all?" He asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Not in the way you've changed," she said, crossing her arms and narrowing her gaze. There was no hostility, just curiosity, giving her a different look than her previous cattiness. Harry could admit that Parkinson was not ugly, but was not on the same level as Daphne - always - or Hermione - when she dressed up. "People will have their eye on you."

"When haven't they?" Harry scoffed. The girl suppressed a grin before leaning away and talking over her shoulder.

"They used to look at your scar. Now they'll look at you. Keep that in mind, Potter."

When she left, Ron looked confused, Hermione looked angry and poor Neville was just looking between Harry and the door.

"What was that?" Ron finally asked, scratching his head. "She wasn't nice, but she wasn't the massive bint she usually is."

To Harry's surprise, Hermione didn't admonish his language. It was Neville that spoke next.

"Pansy wasn't always a mean person," he said softly, looking at Ron before facing Harry. "Pureblood children typically have playdates; we used to be friends. Not close or anything, but enough to play and run around together. She changed a couple of years before Hogwarts."

"How weird," Harry said pensively. "Well, does it matter? It's not like we interact with her to any great degree."

"Fair enough," Neville shrugged. "I just want her to stop mocking me. She's one of the few that still do. Everyone else just got tired, I guess," he finished sadly.

"You don't get the respect you deserve, Nev," Harry said firmly. "You're not a weak wizard."

Neville didn't answer, containing himself to a small smile and a defeated shrug. Harry wanted to sigh and explain he could literally _feel_ that he had a bigger reservoir of magical power than Ron, sitting just next to him, but kept his peace.

When the Express finally arrived at Hogsmeade, there was a storm brewing outside.

"Poor kids," Hermione said sadly next to Harry. "I wouldn't like to ride those little boats in this heavy rain."

"How much do you bet McGonagall won't even think of using a drying charm on their clothes?" Harry asked as they walked outside.

"Professor McGonagall, Harry," Hermione corrected absently, before muttering an incantation to protect herself from rain. Harry rolled his eyes before repeating the motions and quickly teaching Neville and Ron the same spell.

As they walked towards the carriages, Harry noted with the corner of his eye that Daphne was walking with two friends, both of whom also looked dry. A lot of their year-mates were currently soaked.

When they arrived at Hogwarts, McGonagall was angrily yelling at Peeves for him to stop. When she slipped and almost fell, having to use Hermione as support, Harry just sighed tiredly.

"Honestly," he muttered as he grabbed his wand. " _Seccarum_ ," he cast, pointing it at the floor, drying the large wet patches on its sleek surface, before looking at Peeves throwing water balloons at people and casting a basic Protego shield to block his throws.

"Good thinking, Mr. Potter," McGonagall said, before turning to face the poltergeist.

"Professor?" Harry called, making the older witch face him. "Please cast the Drying Charm on the First-Years, yeah?"

"Of course," she nodded firmly before yelling angrily at the cackling Peeves. The radical and abrupt difference in behavior did amuse the Trio before they walked in the direction of the Gryffindor Table. He noted that other students followed his act and cast Drying Charms on their clothes. He also noticed that without outside pressure, Neville caught unto the spell faster than almost everyone else, including some of the older students.

While the other students were staring at the Staff Table, in the annual tradition of figuring out who the DADA teacher was, Harry and Hermione were both staring at the doors that welcomed the First-Years. Harry also exchanged a discreet nod with Daphne across the room, who was similarly concerned. Flitwick also looked more focused on the incoming students than the other teachers, knowing what he knew about the work the three students put into educating the ten Muggle-born.

The First-Years that arrived looked dry, which was good. Harry didn't expect McGonagall to remember to dry the poor sods without his suggestion. For all the magic in the Wizarding World, sometimes these small things just weren't grasped well.

Despite their conversations regarding Hogwarts, all the students, including the Muggle-born, still looked in awe of the castle. Harry smiled softly, recognizing many faces in the crowd. After the usual song and dance, the Sorting itself began.

Hermione and Harry began a conversation but took care to interrupt themselves whenever McGonagall called a Muggle-born from their group.

" _Aziz, Aaliyah,_ " began the proceedings, and the girl walked gingerly to the Sorting Hat, who looked briefly in Harry's direction with a tiny smirk before calling, "HUFFLEPUFF."

"The DADA professor looks quite odd," Hermione said cautiously.

"That's a very charitable way of saying it," Harry said drily. "The man looks half-broken."

"Harry!" Hermione scolded him as she slapped his arm, but with a small amount of amusement in her eyes. "That's no way to speak about a Professor."

"DADA Professors don't count," Harry deadpanned.

" _Creevy, Dennis_ ," called McGonagall. Barely a second after the Sorting Hat landed in his head, it called "GRYFFINDOR" loudly, much to his older brother's joy.

"You liked Professor Lupin," Hermione pointed out.

"I did," Harry nodded. "But he also looked quite haggard at the Start-of-Year Feast."

" _Donelly, Isabella_ ," went to Gryffindor too, sitting next to Dennis and starting an animated conversation.

Before Hermione could continue, " _Duncan, Oscar_ ," went to Hufflepuff and began talking with Aaliyah.

"I think that gruffness isn't necessarily negative in DADA," Hermione said thoughtfully.

"How come?"

"Well, it shows resiliency, I guess," Hermione pointed out. "You can't say Professor Lupin isn't resilient, being a werewolf."

" _Ellis, Olivia_ ," was the second girl sorted into Gryffindor.

"Okay, fair enough, I suppose," Harry admitted. "This Professor looks truly damaged, though. Is that a glass eye?"

"It moves too much to be a glass eye," Hermione said after narrowing her eyes to try to see the details better. "I think it's a magical eye."

"I didn't know that was a thing," Harry admitted warily. "Do you reckon it lets him see anything the naked eye can't?"

"That's an interesting question," Hermione agreed with an absent nod, her tongue peeking out of her mouth as she thought about it. "The eye is such a complex organ, I don't know if magic can make up the difference just to make the eye functional."

"Well, by the way he is glancing around, it seems to see things," Harry shrugged.

"Would it be too rude to ask him?" Hermione asked hesitantly.

"You're kidding, right?" Harry asked in unconcealed amusement. "Excuse me, Professor, can you tell me how that gruesome-looking eye of yours works?"

"It was just a question," Hermione defended herself weakly, blushing lightly as Harry snickered.

" _Moore, Richard_ ," was the longest sorting of a Muggle-born so far, being called to Ravenclaw. In immediate succession, " _O'Neill, Jessica_ " followed into the same House.

"It wasn't a good question, Hermione," Harry pointed out, trying not to laugh as his best friend huffed and grumbled.

"Well, I'm going to the library to research how magic affects anatomy," Hermione said determinedly.

"Actually," Harry frowned, "shouldn't there be glamors that hide scars?"

"Not curse scars," Hermione said quickly. When Harry faced her in confusion, she flushed and looked away. "I know how uncomfortable you are with your scar, so I looked it up."

"That's very sweet," Harry said, squeezing Hermione's hand lightly. The girl smiled back in slight embarrassment.

" _Stafford, Stephen_ " also went to Gryffindor, making their incoming batch of Lions lean heavily towards Muggle-born students.

Finally, McGonagall called " _Tessier, Madeleine_ ," and both Harry and Hermione smiled softly as the girl walked primly towards the Sorting Hat.

"I bet she's going to Ravenclaw," Hermione whispered.

"That's a sucker's bet," Harry smirked.

He watched with fondness as the girl's eyes unfocused, as they ought to do, and she shook her head minutely with a tiny frown. After a long time of silence, she started smiling a bit. The Hat seemed to chuckle to himself before taking a deep breath.

"SLYTHERIN!"

Harry felt the blood drain from his face, and the air exited his body as if he had been struck in the gut with a heavy punch. He felt Hermione gasp and stiffen next to him and absently felt his friend grasp his hand in fright.

Daphne caught his eye across the room, looking as terrified as he felt - her blue eyes were wide open and panicked, her face was white, and her body was shaking slightly. Unaware of Professor Potter's and Professor Greengrass's growing panic, Madeleine smiled softly, gently lifted the Hat from her head, and curtseyed lightly in appreciation to the head garment, who bowed slightly in response. She walked to the Slytherin House Table, who was clapping politely but warily at the girl with the strangely French name. Harry thanked Merlin that her foreign nature would disguise her heritage at least into the next day.

It was a small comfort, and given Daphne's openly terrified expression, he knew he looked just as scared for his favorite student. One word escaped his lips weakly before the blood flowing to his ears was so loud that it blocked every other sound.

"Fuck."

**END OF BOOK 1 - SUMMER OF SALAZAR**


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